


tonight i'll ease your mind

by zouee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Famous Harry, M/M, Rich Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:05:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouee/pseuds/zouee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry's a famous singer at louis' dad's record label</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Harry was little, his mother always encouraged him to sing. When he was six, he'd sing along to all of her songs around the house, making his mother smile and sing with him as they danced together. At eight years old, he sang at their family Christmas, making his Uncles and Aunties, Grandma and Grandpa's cheer and clap, telling him they didn't know he could sing like that. When Harry was eleven, he sang a solo at one of the school's production, watching as his mother clasped her hands together in the audience, her eyes filling with proud tears when Harry finished his last note.

At sixteen, Harry entered his mother's room, kneeling by her bed and taking her shaking hand into his own. She hadn't seen him perform in two and a half years, and Harry refused to sing since she had fallen sick. Her skin had turned pale and her lips were chapped but when she looked at Harry, her eyes were still filled with love - yet Harry could feel her warmth slowly slipping away.

"I want you to do something for me, dear." She had said, trying her hardest to squeeze Harry's hand.

Harry nodded, "Anything,"

"I want you to keep singing."

There had been a pain in his chest when he heard those words. He couldn't possibly continue to sing if she wasn't there, cheering in the audience.

"You have a real talent, Harry." She continued, tapping his hand, "Don't let it go to waste."

Then her eyes started to close, and her breathing slowed down.

"Mum? Mum?" Harry tapped her cheek lightly, and her eyes started to roll. Harry stood up, running to the doorway, "Dad!"

He grabbed a hold of her hand, and watched her leave.

♫

Two years later, and Harry's trying his hardest. He performs almost every weekend at the local pub, hoping that one day, _one day_ ; a record label will sign him.

It's not until one Friday afternoon, after his gig, that his father drives him home, informing him that he has some "great news." He tells Harry about his friend that he met through his brother. His story isn't really going anywhere, though, and Harry's close to telling him to get to the point, when his father drops the news that makes Harry's heart stop for a second.

His friend owns Tomlinson Records. A company that signs young talent and turns them into pop stars.

"So, I told him you were a singer and he wants to see you tomorrow morning." His father says, a smug grin appearing.

Harry throws his hands up, letting out a huge scream of joy.

♫

It's the next morning and Harry's pacing up and down his house with his hands fiddling together nervously. The owner of Tomlinson Records wants to see him _today_ and he has no idea what he should sing for him.

"Well, what does he like?" Harry asks his father, who's watching him with amusement. "What's he looking for? What does he - what's he--"

"Hey, Harry," His father says, setting down his paper and standing up next to him, "you'll be surprised at how nice and calm Mark is. Yeah? Take a big breath, would you?"

"Yeah," Harry sighs, nodding as he watches his father pick up his keys, "yeah."

-*-

"Who've we got today?" Louis asks the receptionist as she walks into the room, her usual clipboard attached to her hand, her phone in the other. She glances at her set of notes and frowns a little.

"Harry... Styles?" She tilts her head to one side, "Says here he's been recommended by his own father."

 Louis scoffs at that, getting up from the office couch to walk over to the bar. "Sounds like a loser."

 "Now don't be so judgmental, Louis." His father enters, dressed in a lilac suit. Louis rolls his eyes and pours himself a glass of mango juice.

"He's the typical wannabe singer with his father granting him his every wish," Louis says, waving his hand about, "we see people like him every day, dad."

"Yes, but his father happens to be a very good friend of mine."

"Well if he's any good, I'd love to know." Louis says, exiting the office to sit in his room instead.

-*-

Harry sits in his father’s car in the middle of Tomlinson Records drive-way. He's been focusing on his breathing the whole way here while his father tells him useful tips that have unfortunately slipped from Harry's memory already. His breathing can't be controlled anymore, though, no matter how hard he focuses. He's exhaling and inhaling so fast he swears he's hyperventilating.

So when he receives a slap on the side on his face, he has to thank his father for knocking him out of it.

"Now, from what I've heard, Mr Tomlinson won't make you sing for him today." Harry feels a wave of relief. He also kind of wants to hit him across the chest for not telling him earlier, too. "He'll just sit you down and ask you a few questions to get to know you better."

 Harry's nodding but he still feels faint. He drinks some water.

"Right. You ready?"

 He shoots his father a terrified look, his heart beating faster than ever.

"You'll be fine, Harry." His father says, his voice soft. He puts a hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eyes as he smiles, "Do it for your mother."

-*-

Louis waits in his room. He's not usually here when his father interviews his artists, he's usually at his mother's where they bake cookies and watch television with her dog. But she's gone on a holiday for the week with her sister, leaving Louis here, already bored as anything.

He sighs and throws his feet up on the coffee table, leaning back into the cushioned chair. But before he presses the remote, he hears the office door open, and the boy, Harry Styles.

"Harry!" Louis' father greets, his loud voice already echoing through the room. "Nice to meet you."

"Hello." He responds, his voice a lot deeper than what Louis had expected. "Pleasure to meet you too."

There's a pulling in Louis' chest as he tosses up staying here, watching morning television, or if he should peek out the door and over the staircase ledge.

"Well, you're definitely more handsome than what your dad gave you credit for!"

"Fuck it," Louis mumbles, kicking his feet off and opening the door.

"Come, sit down." His father prompts to Harry, walking over to his fluffy couches. He waves his finger over to the barista, silently ordering three drinks over.

 Louis peers down over the ledge, and spots them all sitting together in the middle of the room. He can only see the top of Harry's head, a head that's so full of hair it shows some curls that would be nice to feel through your fingertips. Though when Harry leans back into the chair, Louis can see him more clearly.

He's not wearing anything special. Nothing expensive like Louis thought, but he still looks nice in his white t-shirt and black jeans. And his unpolished leather shoes stand out as Harry sits them on the floor, his toes oddly pointing inwards.

"Harry I'd like to ask you some personal questions, if you don't mind?" Louis' father asks, nodding a quick thank you to the barista as he sets down their coffees.

"Of course." Harry nods, leaning forwards again, his elbows rest on his thighs as his hands mingle together. "Go ahead."

"What is your background, Harry? Have you always wanted to sing?"

 It's a simple question. His father says it's the first personal question he always asks every aspiring artist that steps foot into his office. To which they always reply confidently, nodding and grinning before they babble on for half an hour about how much this opportunity means to them.

But Harry's different in a way that he doesn't automatically jump to a positive answer. He looks to his dad, who puts a comforting hand on Harry's back. And Louis starts to think that maybe Harry _doesn't_ want this, that maybe he's only doing it for his dad's approval.

"It's a... Long story." He finally says, and there's a catch in his voice that Louis notices. "But, yeah, I've always enjoyed singing."

He falls back into the couch again, resting his folded hands on top of his waistband, and crosses his ankles loosely. Louis' father asks him another question, and laughs. Harry laughs too, and looks up at the ceiling.

Then his eyes fall on Louis and his smile starts to fade as his eyebrows crease. And Louis feels so hot on his cheeks that he has to vacate into his room again.

-*-

 He had brown hair and blue eyes. Then he was gone.

"Harry?"

He shakes his head, and then he looks at Mr Tomlinson apologetically.

"Sorry, uh--"

"Ah," Mr Tomlinson smiles, as though he knows something. He turns in his chair, looking up where Harry had seen the boy. "Louis!" Mr Tomlinson calls, but he doesn't come out again.

"Who was that?" Harry asks him, as casually as possible.

"That," Mr Tomlinson says, turning back around, "is my son, Louis."

"I didn't know you had a son." Harry's father says, picking up his coffee.

"Well, he's hardly here, anyway." Mr Tomlinson shrugs, "Always at his mother's."

The room falls silent for a bit. And Harry looks back up at the ledge again, wondering why he left and how long he had been there for.

"You're eighteen, yes?"

Harry nods.

"Perfect." Mr Tomlinson says, flashing him a smile. Then he glances down at his watch and suddenly stands up. "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you, Harry."

Harry stands up, immediately getting that nervous feeling in his stomach again, as though standing up made it rush from his chest down to his torso.

"Pleasure to meet _you_ , Mr Tomlinson." Harry smiles, and takes Mr Tomlinson's outstretched hand into his own, shaking it firmly.

He and Harry's father talk a little about their next pub meeting, and then they say their good-byes before Harry and him get ushered out by the man in a dark suit, who closes the thick double doors behind them as soon as they leave the house.

Harry turns to his father immediately. "How did that go?"

"You did great!" He replied enthusiastically, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Really?" Harry doubts, slouching his shoulders a little, "He didn't say anything about another interview."

"He has to think about it, Harry. He can't make an important decision off the bat, you know."

Harry shrugs, "I guess..."

"Oh," His father looks at him with sad eyes, "don't be so hard on yourself. Come here." He pulls Harry into a warm hug, and all Harry can do is look up at the morning sky and hope that he did enough for his mother.

-*-

"Oh, would you look at that, dad. Pretty boy didn't even finish his coffee." Louis says, pointing at the untouched cup on the table where Harry was sitting.

"Maybe he doesn't like coffee."

"Maybe he doesn't like how it was made."

"Maybe he prefers tea."

"Maybe he should've told you that before you ordered him one. Bit of a waste, isn’t it?"

His father sighs and folds his arms over his chest. "Why don't you like him?"

"Why _do_ you like him?"

"Well, I," His father starts to say, then stops for a second to choose what jacket he prefers from the two options his stylist holds up. "I think he's a very original artist."

"He's got stupid hair." Louis replies sourly, stopping himself from thinking how soft it would feel to touch.

"Oh, would you stop being so cynical?" He says, shrugging on the jacket as he picks up his keys, "I've got a meeting now. So you can either stay here or go into town. The keys are on the bench, the money's in--"

"I know where everything is."

"Right." His father replies, pauses for a little to think of what to say. Then looks back to Louis. "Well, I'll see you when I get home, okay?"

Louis gives him a wave, and runs his finger aimlessly across the couch. And stops when he gets to where Harry's spot was.

"Are you gonna accept him?" Louis calls out before his father leaves.

"Not sure yet, Lou, have to think about it!" He calls back, and the door shuts behind him.

-*-

 "You're still not breathing properly."

Harry, for the first time since getting back into the car, notices that he's hitching on every breath, hardly inhaling at all. Then he stops all together, and takes in a slow breath to ease himself.

"I can't _help_ it, dad." He sighs, looking out the window. "This is like, the most nerve-racking thing, _ever_. I'm not even worried about exams anymore, this is--"

"Wait a second," His father interrupts, holding a finger up, "you still have to try in school."

"Even if I get accepted?"

There's a pause. And the finger drops. "Yes."

Harry lets out a groan. He knows he'll pass his exams anyway, he's practically acing every subject he's taking, and it's not like he has anything else to do on weekends besides study and play video games on his Xbox, anyway. He did have Zayn once upon a time, but he moved away earlier in the year.

Harry wonders how he's doing.

 "Tell you what'll calm you down a bit?" His father says, a smile forming, "Let's do a bit of food shopping for tonight, and you can cook up something really great, then eat so much junk afterwards we nearly explode."

Harry's sure his father's more excited about this idea then Harry will ever be, but he smiles anyway. Because at least cooking will side-track him from the endless empty feeling he feels bubbling through his body whenever he thinks of Mr Tomlinson discussing the possibilities of Harry's future.

"Alright," He agrees, then leans his head back on the leather seat, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. "But could we get a coffee first? I think I'm about to pass out from exhaustion."

He spots a frown on his father's forehead as he turns to him. "Harry, we literally just _had_ coffee."

And now Harry's frowning, because he can't remember if maybe he had drank it or completely had no recollection of it being there, and now he really does feel like he's going to faint.

♫

They stop at a small little corner cafe down the road. It's nice, Harry thinks. It's got a warm feeling to it when you walk in, with a crackling fireplace in the corner and soft music running throughout the room. There's an elderly couple at one table, and a business man with a newspaper on another, and that's all.

"Go grab a table, Harry. I'll order."

Harry nods, and walks over to the cushioned booth almost instantly, wondering why the other customers would rather sit somewhere else other than right here.

He sinks into the booth, letting his unco-ordinated limbs fall anywhere they feel comfortable, and lets out a relaxed sigh.

The interview replays in his head as he closes his eyes. The firm grip Mr Tomlinson had on his hand when they first met him, and how Harry was almost lost for words as he looked around the mansion that was fit for a king. And he remembers how he sat down, how he was asked questions; but doesn't remember any of the answers he gave Mr Tomlinson, which makes Harry worry a little bit more than it should.

So he levels out his breathing before it gets out of control again, and opens his eyes.

He's got a full view of the massive window that may as well be a wall, and looks out into the street. A _very_ expensive, black and shiny vehicle pulls up out the front beside the curb, and it's got everyone in the store staring.

Then Harry's father comes back with their coffees, just as Louis Tomlinson steps out of the driver's seat.

-*-

It's a shabby old coffee shop but it'll have to do. It's not his fault that his stupid father doesn't own any damn tea in his _entire_ house. So Louis hops out of the car, walking (with slight shame) into the small and almost deserted, plus oddly designed and cheaply built corner cafe.

He walks straight to the counter, wanting to be in and out as fast as possible. The only thing he wishes to do is drink his tea whilst play the video game he brought down from his mother's, the one that he's admittedly addicted to, and laze around for a bit.

The server approaches and Louis orders a black tea with no sugar, adding for it to be made extra hot. He pays, and is about to turn around when,

"Hi!"

It makes Louis jump about ten feet, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. Who the hell-?

Oh, look at that, it's Harry Styles.

"Jesus Christ." Louis exhales, almost breathless as he clutches his chest.

He looks at Harry, who's actually noticeably taller than him, though he looks younger. And his green eyes are staring back at him, crowded with apologies.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to--"

Louis waves him off, "Don't worry about it."

He looks passed Harry's shoulder, to Harry's father. And the coffees placed on the table. Louis raises his eyebrow sceptically.

"So, uh," Harry starts to say, and Louis looks at him again, almost forgetting he was there, "your house was lovely."

"It's my dad's." Louis corrects, and he faces the counter again, drawing on it aimlessly with his finger, "And it's _not_ lovely."

"Oh." Harry clears his throat beside him, "Why's that?"

 Louis shoots a look at him, frowning a little. He sees Harry's Adam's apple bob furiously as he swallows hard.

"You're really asking me that, Harry?"

He sees Harry's eyes widen slightly, and his cheeks start to flush as he stumbles over his words. "No - I, I wasn't trying to--"

"Didn't think so." Louis adds, turning to the counter to collect his hot drink. "Thanks."

He turns to Harry again; who's so shocked with embarrassment it's sort of worrying. So Louis pats him on the arm once to soothe him down, he doesn't want his father's client passing out anytime soon.

"Well, Harry, it was nice meeting you." Louis says, flashing him a small smile before heading towards the door.

It's not until he's half-way across the floor-boarded shop until he hears Harry call out, "You too!"

-*-

Harry watches Louis leave and lets his shoulders slouch with dissatisfaction when the door closes. He drags his feet over to his table again, sitting down heavily with his head in his hands.

 "Didn't go too well?" His father guesses, taking a sip of his coffee.

Harry nods lamely. "Don't think he likes me very much."

His father scoffs, "Harry, he hardly knows you."

"Yeah, but..." He pauses, running a hand over his face, "he's Mr Tomlinson's _son_ , like--"

"He also doesn't have an impact on your chances." His father points out. Then looks down at Harry's coffee, "Now drink up, we've got shopping to do."

♫

They buy some small furniture for the apartment they still haven't moved out of. They bought it just after Harry's mother died, with the promise that it'd only be temporary, only until they find a suitable house. They've been here for two years, but neither have ever complained about it.

They also buy a heck load of fatty foods that's enough to feed a family of five, so they buy that and nothing else, leaving Harry un-required to cook.

Harry's got two shopping bags, one in each hand, when he enters their apartment. And he's in the midst of unpacking them and placing the contents out on the kitchen bench, when the phone rings. Harry answers it as fast as he can, palms sweating in anticipation.

"Hello, Harry speaking."

"Hi, Harry. It's Mr Tomlinson. How are you?"

 Harry's spine runs with a shiver and suddenly his voice is shaky.

"I-I'm fine, thank you."

"Good, good. Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm calling?"

And Harry nods, then realises he's on the damn phone. "Yes."

His father enters at that moment, his voice bounding through, "Harry! We have--"

He catches Harry's eye as soon as he's directed to be quiet. And he clicks on straight away, giving Harry a thumbs up as he ducks out of the room.

"Well, I've got a proposition to make, Harry." Mr Tomlinson says, his voice as stern as Harry remembers it.

"Of course."

"How would you feel if I told you I wanted to see you again?" He asks, and Harry's whole body stiffens except for the grin stretching on his face. "I liked you, Harry, and I want you to sing for me tomorrow night. How about it?"

"Yes!" Harry almost yells into the phone. Then he coughs a little and tones it down. "Uh, yes, that'd be great!"

"Come to my office at seven-thirty, sharp."

Harry scribbles the time down on a scrap piece of paper he finds on the countertop, his fingers barely able to move.

"Thank you so much."

"No worries, Harry. I look forward to seeing you and your father tomorrow night."

They hang up and Harry bounds into the room where his father had been listening through the wall.

"He wants to hear me sing!"

-*-

Louis sets his tea down on the table next to him. Despite the shabby setting of the place where he got it from, they didn't half-ass it when he asked for it to be extra hot. He blows on it a little, and turns on the TV in his room, kicking his feet up with the controller in his hand.

The intro of the game starts, it's the one where you kill people and buy guns and kill more people... All that manly stuff. And he plays it online, so he can actually verse real people and feel great when they lose against him.

But half an hour passes and he's forward in his seat, dropping the controller in anger when this new player kills him for the fourth time today.

Even his tea's turned cold from how absorbed he is.

The match finishes, the new player winning four to one, and Louis nearly leaves the game until something pops up on his screen. It's a message, something from the player that he was just battling against. Louis almost doesn't want to open it, with the feeling that it'll only be him laughing in his face.

But he ends up opening it anyway, and laughs a little because it's nothing like he thought.

_U got a mic?_

Louis replies with a " _Yeh. U?"_ and gets up to drain the cup of old tea down his sink, then throws the cup down the bin. When he returns, there's another message.

_Yeah. Plug urs in._

So Louis finds the cord to his headset and plugs it into the side of his Xbox, hearing a voice straight away, greeting him. It sounds oddly familiar, but with the quality on these things it's very easy to mix up this deep voice with someone like his middle-aged next door neighbour.

He shudders at the thought, and accepts the player's invite to another game.

-*-

Harry's leaning so far forward in the beanbag he might as well be sitting on the floor. His fingers and thumb tap furiously on his controller with his tongue out of his mouth to help him concentrate on the game.

He whips out a move that this new player definitely wouldn't have been expecting, and kills him with one shot of his knife, spinning it into his back.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Harry hears through his headset, and he can't help but giggle.

"I'm actually good at this game when I'm not versing you, I swear." The player says. And there's a muffling sound, and a few mumbled swear words until his voice is clear again.

Harry stifles a laugh, "You alright there?"

He hears him clear his throat, "Uh, yeah. Ready for another game?"

"Ooh, it depends." Harry says, licking his lips and leaning back into the beanbag, "Are you ready to get your ass beat? Again?"

"Don't tempt me; I _will_ bring out my inner gamer."

"Ooh! I'm so scared!" Harry smiles, staring at the user’s name that doesn't say anything but LWT.

And he hears a short growl. "What's your name, anyway?"

Harry hesitates for a second. He looks around his room, eyes planting on a school certificate that he hung up on his wall, with his full name printed across it. He turns back to the screen, and clears his throat. "Edward."

A light scoff is heard through his headset, "What, like the vampire?"

Harry laughs a little, "Yeah. What's yours?"

There's a pause, and Harry starts to wonder if he's about to do the same thing and use a middle name instead.

"William." He says.

♫

Harry goes to bed that night with fear and excitement and nervousness in his body. It's all rolled into one that he doesn't know what he feels more.

He keeps playing out scenarios in his head of what could happen tomorrow.

What if his voice breaks? What if they don't like his song? What if they realise he's not what they're looking for and cancel out the record deal altogether?

Harry feels tightness in his chest and he rolls over to his stomach, letting out a groan. He looks at the clock on his bedside table and watches it switch over to 1AM, accepting that he won't be able to sleep tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

"Get up."

Louis rolls over in his bed. He _knows_ he's slept in, he can feel the afternoon sounds from his window and how he feels sort of numb from staying in his bed for so long. And when he rubs his eyes open, stretching out a yawn, he sees Marie, the household's maid waking him up.

"Mm, hello to you too." Louis flashes a small smile, still waiting for his eyes to focus.

"No game, sir." Marie responds, and Louis always seems to forget her limitations in English. "Get up."

Louis lets out a soft groan, falling back into his pillow. "What time is it?"

"It, uh-," She checks her watch, a broom in her hand. "It two."

"Two in the afternoon?" Louis bolts upright, giving him a headache. He knew he had slept in, but not for _that_ long.

"You," Marie points, waving her finger, "get up. Tomlinson mad."

"Dad's mad?" Louis asks, and she nods. He tilts his head back with a groan, "What a surprise."

He whips back his duvet and throws on a pair of loose-fitting pants that are laid on the floor. Marie starts to clean up around his room, starting with the washing.

"Wish me luck," Louis says to her before he leaves.

She gives him a smile and a short nod, "Good luck."

He takes his time walking down the staircase, watching as men in suits are walking everywhere around the house like everything they do is very important. Louis rolls his eyes because who's coming? The queen?

And as soon as his two feet land off the last step, his father's there as soon as he turns, stress filling his face.

"Oh! Look at that! You're finally awake!" He announces, displeased. "If I hadn't known any better I'd thought you'd died!"

"You'd be thrilled with that, wouldn't you?" Louis utters under his breath, refusing to look him in the eye.

"What did you say?"

"I said, what did you want?"

"I need you to help around the house, since you _are_ living here now,"

"Not by choice." Louis mumbles again, but his father continues like he never said anything.

"So I need you to do some things for me before our new client comes in today."

Louis raises his eyebrows as his father's eyes glance down at the pile of papers he has in his hands.

"New client?" Louis asks, taking a step forward. "So you accepted Harry already?"

"Yes." Someone takes the pile of papers and his father takes off his glasses and folds them into his hand. "I want you to ring the boys that I had here last time with me, the boys at the studio. Broad guy and the Irish fellow, what were their names--?"

"Liam and Niall." Louis responds, deadpan. Liam and Niall have worked here for over three years now, but they get moved half-way across town after every record deal.

"Ah, yes! Liam and Niall. I need you to call them and ask to be here before seven." His father orders, and Louis looks around to all the men in suits.

"Can't you get one of them to help--?"

"And I also need you to go down the road when you're finished and buy some tea packets." Says his father, dropping his car keys into Louis' hand, then taps him on the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me we ran out?"

"Dad, you don't even drink tea." Louis says. He looks down at the keys in his hands and shoves them back to his father. "Keep your damn keys."

His father's eyes are nothing but shock. Louis turns away, walking up the stairs and hoping it would magically switch into the house he lives in back home. Not this fancy, pretentious business that he doesn't want any part of.

"Louis!" His father calls from downstairs. "Where do you think you're going?"

And he doesn't face him when he yells back, "I'm calling mum!"

♫

It doesn't even ring once before the operator says his mother's out of signal. And Louis almost wants to _cry_ because he just wants to be heard and comforted and loved. Not to be left alone and only paid attention to when he's being ordered around.

Back home he had friends. He had a place where he'd go two times a week and hung out with people he liked and enjoyed spending time with. There was nobody that he called a _good_ friend, but at least he had someone, unlike here.

Here, the only person that he likes is the maid, and she can hardly understand English. Then there's Liam and Niall, and they're okay, he likes them.

And he decides that maybe if he were to see them soon that'd make him feel a little better. So, he closes his eyes and cuddles himself into bed, with hopes that maybe this day will go faster if he sleeps.

-*-

Harry's feet bounce on the floor of the car, making his knees jolt up and down at separate times. He's tried to stop, but when he steadies his feet he resorts to biting his nails instead. He's so nervous he could cry.

"Got a song yet?" His father asks, pulling into the street down from Mr Tomlinson's.

"I'm thinking of using my original," Harry says, his voice as shaky as anything. He tries to swallow down his nerves, but he sees the top of the mansion and his knees spasm.

"Harry, for God's sake, you gotta breathe."

He closes his eyes and starts to do what his mother taught him whenever he was nervous to go on stage. In through the nose, out through the mouth, and count to ten.

He's about up to three when he feels the car stop. And he opens his eyes, the massive building where people want to hear his voice.

"Do y-you think I'm ready?" Harry shakes, having to sit on his hands so they don't fall off.

His father squeezes Harry's shoulder, giving him a warm smile. "You've been ready for this ever since you started singing. They're not vultures, Harry, and _if_ they don't like your stuff then there are plenty of other roads we can turn down." He drops his hand and taps Harry's arm, "Just go in there and kill it like I know you will."

Harry returns his smile and suddenly he's not shaking anymore. The nerves still rattle throughout his body but he manages to get out of the car and walk up the steps to the front door, ringing the doorbell that echoes.

It's immediate when they're greeted by an unknown man in a suit. He takes their jackets and only nods when Harry says hello. Then another man comes up, offering drinks of any sort, to which they both decline.

And then Mr Tomlinson appears, looking richer than royalty, and grins.

"Nice to see you both again!"

Harry stays timid by his father's side, afraid that if he leaves his spot he'll be forced to faint or die. And he's about to say something back to Mr Tomlinson, but is lost for words when he feels someone tap his shoulder, something like an order.

"Follow him, he'll guide you to the recording booth and get you set up." Mr Tomlinson smiles, then turns to Harry's father, "Now,"

"Recording--?"

He's taken by the wrist and pulled before his sentence could be finished, and his mind is running at a thousand thoughts per second as he's whisked away through hallways and doors, with so much to take in and so many routes to walk down it's almost like a maze.

"Here, you'll be singing,"

And it takes a while to realise but Harry looks around the room and finds himself in a soundproof booth. He turns to the man that led him here, who's fixing headphones and turning knobs on the soundboard.

"Put these on," He says, and hands Harry a pair of headphones that cover his both his ears.

He puts them on, and nearly has a heart attack when he looks in front of him. He's in a room that has a glass wall that separates him from a long desk and chairs that people are going to be sitting on. They'll be listening and watching Harry sing, right there, where Harry can see them.

He honestly doesn't know what he was expecting but this is terrifying as hell.

"What's your name?" He asks suddenly, taking off the headphones. He needs _some_ sort of distraction.

The middle-aged man looks up from the soundboard, and gives Harry a questionable look.

"What? Hasn't anybody asked for your name before?" Harry asks him, smiling playfully.

But the man just looks back down, making Harry's smile wipe away.

"It's Gavin." He says, taking Harry by surprise.

"Oh!" Harry smiles again, stretching out his hand, "I'm Harry."

But Gavin only glances at Harry's hand and turns back to the soundboard. "I know."

Harry drops his hand and slaps it to his other one, stepping back as his eyebrows rise slightly. He forgets how snobby this part of town can be.

"On Tomlinson's count you start singing straight away." Gavin tells him, exiting the sound booth. Harry nods to him, and before Gavin leaves, he turns to Harry once more and without meeting his eyes he wishes him good luck, and then shuts the door.

Harry looks to the desk and padded chairs in front of him, and he sees the door open at the corner of his eye, and more than one person come filing in. They don't see Harry straight away; they're too busy laughing with each other about some inside joke.

Mr Tomlinson's there, but the two other boys with him are people Harry's never seen before. One has brown hair, a tad lighter than Harry's, and a smile that makes his eyes crinkle up so much it's hard to see what colour they are. The other has blonde, shaggier hair and has done nothing but laugh since they entered; the sound filling the room even though where Harry stands it's silent.

Then one at a time, starting from Mr Tomlinson, they all look up at Harry and sit down in their chairs. Harry has to swallow hard enough so he doesn't throw up.

Mr Tomlinson presses a button and leans into his own microphone, "It was track seven, yes?"

Harry pulls on his headphones again, watching as Liam whispers something into Niall's ear and Niall laughs. He turns back to Mr Tomlinson.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, track seven."

His father must have given him the cd that has all his songs when Harry was whisked away. It's the instrumental version, the one that he and Zayn worked on together.

 _I really wonder how he's doing_. Harry thinks.

"Alright, when you're ready." Mr Tomlinson tells him, and Harry gives him a nod as he adjusts the microphone in front of him. Then the track plays.

He closes his eyes, thinking about all those times he's sang this song. In the shower, in the garage, in his room, in the car... And suddenly it's so much easier.

"Now you were standing right in front of me," He sings, listening to the backing track, "I hold on, it's getting harder to breathe."

He opens his eyes, noticing his father in the room too, smiling.

-*-

Louis wakes up again to the sound of music echoing through the house. He groans, and then turns over where he nearly falls out of bed. Once to his feet, he picks up the nearest pair of jeans and pulls them on, a task that shouldn't be such a struggle. He crosses over to his wardrobe and takes out the first shirt he finds and pulls that on too.

He goes to his bathroom and finds the gel in one of the drawers and styles his hair as nice as he can. He's really due for a haircut, but he refuses to let anyone else touch his hair except for his mother. So he runs his fingers through it until it's presentable, and makes his way downstairs.

He hears the song a lot clearer now, but it's all really just a blur to his ears.

 _Just another stupid love song, what a surprise._  He thinks as he pours himself a cup of tea. One of his father’s men must have ducked out into the store to get some, since Louis had refused to.

There's a sudden twist of guilt in his stomach as he thinks about it.

He looks around with his filled tea cup, noticing that he's the only one in the house that's not in the recording booth. He glances out the window and sighs. He can't go out there; it's like the start of a blizzard or something.

So he turns around and straightens his back, walking towards the recording booth with a tea cup cradled in his hands.

The first person he sees is Harry, his eyes closed and the veins in his neck starting to show as he finishes a long note. Louis raises an eyebrow, he's actually pretty good.

"Louis!"

He turns his head to the sound and sees Niall, already bounding towards him with a grin.

"Hey, Niall," Louis says, letting Niall hug him. "It's been a while."

"Hey, Lou." Liam walks up, and Louis smiles at him, taking his hand and bumping his shoulder.

"So, what d'you think of this guy?" Louis asks them both, nodding towards Harry.

Niall shrugs, "He's probably the best one we've seen in a while."

"Yeah, no need to auto tune this one." Liam comments, and they all turn to look at the boy in the booth.

Louis darts his eyes away as soon as he looks, though. Because Harry's already staring at him with such an intense glare that it makes Louis blush a little.

He distracts himself and takes a sip of his tea.

"Wanna run that again, Harry?"

"Sorry?" Harry asks.

Louis' father repeats himself through the microphone, "Is it okay to run that again?"

Harry only nods, before sneaking another look to Louis. And Louis averts his gaze to Liam and Niall, asking them if they want to sit.

Louis sits in a chair between them, and he tries his hardest not to glance up at Harry, even when he starts singing and hits a note that even makes the hairs on Louis' arms stand up.

"So," Louis says, shuffling in his seat, "Anything interesting happen since the last time I saw you?"

"I met Paris Hilton," Niall tells him, his eyes bright with excitement, though his smile is only smug.

"Niall, you bumped into her and screamed." Liam corrects, "I'd hardly call that meeting."

"Louis," Mr Tomlinson hisses, "stop talking."

Louis eyes widen, and he's about to retaliate when he realises there's no point. He feels a hand on his back, Liam's, and it's comforting to know that these boys know what it's like. They've seen Louis' father boss him around like he's nothing but a worker.

And Louis drops his head, looking down as his thumb traces the rim of the cup slowly, wishing his mother would come back already so he can go home and maybe even cry on her shoulder. It's kind of lame, knowing that the only good friend you have is your own mother, but he's never really gone to school and he's never really had the opportunity to make any other friends. Besides Liam and Niall, but he only gets to see them for a week every six months or so.

"Don't let me go, don't let me go."

Harry's singing fills Louis' ears. And he can't help but look up at that second; because he's belting out the last chorus and he's so _passionate_ about singing it's almost a joy to watch. But then--

"Don't let me go, 'cause I'm tired of feeling alone."

The music slows a little, and the pressure in Louis' chest is enough for him to leave his tea on the table as he gets up, turning to walk from the room.

-*-

The next time Harry looks over he can't find him. The chair's empty and the two boys he was talking to look worried. Louis left.

But Harry still finishes the rest of that run through, the pit of his stomach feeling terrible and anxious. His confidence feels like it was torn to shreds and rolled down a hill into a massive pile of mud.

Did Louis hate it so much he had to _leave_? Was it his voice? His song?

And even though Mr Tomlinson is beaming through the microphone and his co-workers are smiling and his father is clapping cheerfully, Harry still feels like he let himself down. He wants to know _why_ Louis didn't like it. So much so that he couldn't stand to listen to the rest, that he had to walk out after only being there for half a minute.

"Good song, Styles!" Mr Tomlinson congratulates, and Harry presses a smile.

He's waving him over, so Harry places his headphones down and opens the door to the rest of the crew.

"Nice song!" Louis' blonde friend says, grinning.

"Yeah, nice job mate." The boy next to him says, slapping Harry on the shoulder.

"Thanks," Harry nods, and flashes them a smile. He's about to ask if they knew why Louis left, when Mr Tomlinson's calling him over, excitement in his voice.

He walks passed the two boys, and earns a reassuring slap on the back from his father (and is that a tear in his eye?) before he reaches the beaming man that called him.

"Come, Harry!" Mr Tomlinson grins, gesturing towards an open door, leading into a dark room. "I've got exciting news!"

Harry enters the next room when a light flicks on. There's a long, wooden table in the centre, with nothing but a small green lamp and a stack of papers. It's a small room, and nothing else fits in here, but the seats are big and more comfortable to sit on than Mr Tomlinson's couch, if he was honest.

They sit on opposite sides of the table, but Mr Tomlinson doesn't sit until he closes the door behind them. It's intimate, and scary, and Harry's palms are sweating so hard he's constantly wiping them on his jeans. Something his mother would've told him off for, surely.

"Now, Harry. How did that feel?" Mr Tomlinson asks, folding his hands together as he places them on the table.

Harry swallows hard, "Incredible."

"That's what I like to hear." Mr Tomlinson smiles, giving him a look that's both consoling and frightening at the same time. He shuffles around with the papers a bit, until he finds the stapled pile he was looking for. He moves everything out of the way, and places the pile between them before he looks Harry in the eye and says, "How would you feel about a record deal?"

-*-

The last lyrics play over and over and _over_ in his head. Louis' not sure whether it makes him feel angry or sad or a bit of both, but it makes him kick a rock with his foot and tear out a pretty flower on the sidewalk.

Because the truth is, he's always been alone. Whether he likes to admit it or not, he's never _really_ had someone. It's pathetic and useless and something that strong boys like Louis definitely do _not_ cry over. But the lyrics play again, the line that mentions being alone and Louis looks up at the darkening sky, cursing silently at his parents for making him move to all these different schools when he was younger. The time he spent at each one felt shorter every time, hardly enough for him to make any friends.

He had a girlfriend once. She made him feel loved and important, the opposite of alone. But long distance relationships only last for so long. Plus, you know, that was when Louis realised that he was in fact gay. So they had split up, and as boys have come and gone, Louis' never really felt anything special.

Louis keeps walking down the concreted path until he reaches the nearby park down the road. He's lucky that it's stopped raining; all he has on is a pair of jeans and a thin white shirt, plus some shoes that have been soaked through from all the puddles. He _really_ needs to invest in some socks.

Louis takes out his phone and sits on the park bench with a sigh. Four more days and he's back home with his mother. Just four more days.

Her name shows on his phone, and Louis presses dial before he can even think. Though his hand doesn't even reach his ear before the monitor is telling Louis that she's out of service again.

And like a cue in a movie, the rain starts to pour.

-*-

"Congratulations, Styles! You've earned your first record deal." Mr Tomlinson grins and they both stand, shaking hands as they seal the deal.

"Thank you." Harry says as their hands drop. "Thank you."

"Ah, it's all in a day’s work, mate." He winks, and taps Harry on the shoulder. "Now, how do you feel about staying for dinner to celebrate?"

♫

The table is massive. And it's not like it needs to be this big, but there's enough room for the whole royal family to sit. Harry's sitting on the left side of the table, with the rest of them. He looks down it, and thinks if there were people on the other side he'd never be able to make conversation with them. He wonders if his family celebrates Christmas and if they find it annoying with a table so large. But then he looks at Mr Tomlinson, with wrinkles between his eyebrows that are so defined from frowning so much, and how the waiters that surround him seem to be his only family, and thinks that maybe not.

"Hey, Niall," Liam says next to him, a smile on his face, "You gonna throw up again?"

"Fuck off," Niall retorts, shaking his head, "everyone knows that was because of my weak stomach."

Liam rolls his eyes and turns to Harry, eyes bright. "Mate, last time we had dinner here Niall had too much to handle and there was turkey. _Everywhere_."

Harry stifles a chuckle in his hand, not from the story, but how hard Niall is staring into Liam's soul.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" Niall asks him, but doesn't wait for an answer. He points to Liam, " _This_ guy's afraid of fucking _spoons_."

Liam folds his arms over his chest and shrugs.

Harry frowns a little and picks up the shiny, silver one in front of him, "What, you mean these?"

Niall nods enthusiastically as Liam lets out a groan.

"He's making it sound like I'd jump out a window if I saw one." He says, rolling his eyes as he looks at Harry, "They don't frighten me or anything I just... Don't like using them."

Harry nods slowly, leaning back into his chair. He's never even heard of that before, and he wonders why in God's name someone would be afraid of a piece of cutlery. He doesn't say anything, though.

"Once," Niall continues, grabbing Harry's attention, "he had to eat soup with a fork."

Harry hides the creeping smile forming on his lips with the back of his hand. Because although they're teasing each other, there's that playfulness side if it, the side that's all in good fun to annoy the other, and it reminds him all too well of the bickering he and Zayn used to do when he was still in town. And _God_ , Harry misses him.

Then Liam slaps Niall across the arm, making Harry turn to them again.

"Would you stop?" Liam asks him, frowning, "You always bloody bring that up."

Niall bursts out a laugh, "'Cause it's fucking soup!"

Liam's about to open his mouth to say something else when there's a tapping sound coming from the other side of the table. And where the adults are seated, Mr Tomlinson's tapping his butter knife to his glass, suggesting a toast.

He stands up, and looks over the table, mainly at Harry, and clears his throat as everyone falls silent under his gaze.

"Tonight we all discovered a star. A young boy with talent and looks that are destined to go far in the music industry. I'm glad to announce that he is now signed with my record label, and I can _assure_ you, there will be a lot coming from this boy in the near future." He and Harry share a smile, and everyone's glasses rise, "To the future!"

"To the future!" The table echoes, and everyone takes a collective sip out of their drinks.

♫

The main course is something Harry's never tried before. It's salmon, he knows that much, but the other part just looks expensive as hell, though there's not much of it anyway. And it's nine o'clock at night, Harry can see out the window how dark it's become, even some stars start to show a little.

"Where'd Louis go?" Niall whispers to Liam.

Harry looks up from his plate. He hasn't heard the front door open at all since Louis left, and hasn't seen him upstairs, the first place Harry ever spotted him, and he hasn't heard anything to give away the fact that Louis was still in this house. Then he looks to Louis' father, who doesn't seem fazed at all by Louis' whereabouts. Though he should be, he _really_ should be, because it's dark and cold and he could be lost.

"He's probably at the park." Liam replies, voice low as he shrugs. "You know how he gets."

So Harry then thinks that maybe this is a regular thing. Maybe Louis always goes for walks in the dark, maybe to clear his mind. In that case, Harry understands completely, since he used to do the exact same thing.

-*-

It’s utterly pitched black. The only thing he can see clearly is his feet from the light on his phone, making it shine down on the footpath. He's sure he's going the right way - there's only one path stretching from his father's house to the park - but he's still scared to think that he's lost.

He hears a rustle in one of the bushes nearby and almost jumps away onto the grass. But out hops a tiny bird, and Louis exhales in relief, shaking his head at his own stupidity.

He picks up his pace, walking faster along the path until he can see the lights on his father's house. Shutting off his phone light he squeezes out the built up water from his shirt and jeans, making it trickle down the cemented stairs leading up to the front door. His shoes squeak as he walks, so he pulls them off and places them on the side of the door outside, and then wipes his wet feet onto the hard doormat to dry.

He doesn't bother knocking to let the door people open it and guide Louis in, and opens it instead, letting himself into the stainless house, still damp with rainwater.

The workers rush to Louis' side, some in alarm (thinking that he was a wrecked stranger inviting himself in) and some worried, asking him if he needed any help.

Louis brushes them off, shaking his head to every question they had.

Then he looks to his left, and stops.

The dining table at the other side of the room is occupied. Not just by his father, but by that Harry guy, too. Which means he's been signed.

"Louis! Want any food?" His father asks him, his voice loud enough to echo through the whole room.

The rest of the table is silent. Liam and Niall look at Louis with permanent worried frowns across their heads, Harry only looks confused. But his eyes drop when Louis meets his, and he realises how he must look right now. Wet and sad, shoeless with his hair flat on his head. While Harry's over there looking rich and snobby already.

It's started.

"No." Louis replies flatly.

He turns, and walks up the stairs, all eyes on him, and makes the statement of slamming his bedroom door behind him.

-*-

"I'll go." Liam says before anyone else. He's up out of his chair before Harry can look up again, then he watches as Liam climbs the stairs where Louis had gone to.

"So!" Mr Tomlinson begins, clasping his hands together with an unfazed smile. "Anyone else watch the game last night?"

Harry wants to demand why he wasn't up there instead of Liam; he wants to ask why he doesn't care that his own son came home drenched in the evening rain, obviously upset about _something_. Harry didn't even have to look at Louis long enough to know what there was something distant in Louis' eyes.

But Mr Tomlinson only continues to talk to Harry's father, completely brushing it off as though this was a normal thing that happens on the daily. And it's terrible, really, to know that he would rather keep his guests occupied than to ask his son if he's doing okay.

-*-

He hears two knocks on his bedroom door.

"Lou?"

"Go away." Louis mumbles, sitting on his couch waiting for the game to load up.

He knows it’s Liam even before the door even opens. And it's great because Liam doesn't care what Louis says, he will go against everything if it means that he's right. And now, as Louis mopes in his room, Liam knows that the right thing to do is to step in there regardless of any objections and make sure Louis is okay.

He sits down next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders with a sigh.

"You still on this game, Tommo?" Liam asks him, pointing lazily to the screen that's starting up. "Thought you would've clocked it by now."

And Louis shrugs, "Well, I only ever play it when I'm here, so."

There's a pause as the game completely loads and Louis knows how to press the button to start a match but suddenly he's not feeling it anymore. The mood shifts in the room, and if it wasn't serious before, it is now.

He feels Liam's fingers brush against Louis' shoulder, and Louis falls on instinct, and leans into Liam's body.

"You miss your mum, huh?" Liam says quietly, a tone so delicate it could almost be broken.

"Loads." Louis replies, his fingers starting to fiddle together.

"She's coming back soon, right? A few days?"

"Yeah," Louis smiles, "four more days."

"See?" Liam says, his voice rising a little with positivity, "At least you have something to look forward to."

And Louis imagines going back home with his mother. How much better life feels when he's back there, in his hometown with people that love him.

Then, for some _stupid_ reason, he imagines switching on the television one day and flicking onto a celebrity show, one that Louis usually cannot stand. And he imagines seeing his father there, proud as punch with a grin that Louis could so easily slap off. Then he sees Harry next to him, years into fame, with hair that looks even more stupid than it does now and eyes that don't have that shine or purity that they had before. He looks miserable and lost - manufactured to look happy in front of cameras - and Louis' father is just standing there, _happy_ with himself that he just turned another pretty boy with potential, into a music making maniac that's heading towards a downward spiral.

And suddenly the room feels still and his head is clustered with news headlines and he has to sit up from his position on Liam's shoulder to orientate himself again.

"Hey, hey, _hey_ ," Liam says, frowning with concern, "you alright?"

Louis can only nod. Because maybe it's not the absence of his mother that's making him edgy, maybe it's not the principle of being alone that's making him sad - maybe it's the fact that Harry's life is destined to be ruined and Louis can't _do_ anything to stop it.

"Come here," Liam says, bringing Louis in for a hug. Louis falls into it instantly. "I'm sorry I haven't been here for you as much as I should've been. Niall and I, we've just been so busy with everything and--"

Louis shakes his head and pulls away to give him a reassuring smile. "It's not your fault, Liam."

Liam returns his smile and they return to the position they were before, with his arm around Louis' shoulder and Louis leant against him. "At least I'm here now, yeah?"

The corners of Louis’ lips curve up a little, "Yeah."

-*-

Harry hears Niall groan at the dinner table. He's been constantly fidgeting around in his chair and looking up occasionally towards Louis' bedroom ever since Liam left to go up there.

But it doesn't last long until Niall finally cracks.

"I should go up there." He mumbles, almost to himself.

He starts to get up out of his chair, until something in Harry takes him by surprise and he's grabbing a hold of Niall's wrist, telling him to wait.

He glances at him, almost impatiently, but he must have seen something in Harry's face because his eyes soften.

Harry drops his gaze and lets go of Niall's wrist. "Do you reckon he'll...mind, if I join you?"

"Who, Louis?"

Harry nods, seeing the doubt cross Niall's face.

He's scratching the back of his neck when he says, "Uhh, I could ask him?"

Harry almost grins when he hears that, and he's trailing behind Niall before he knows it, walking up the stairs that leads into Louis' bedroom. There's a sudden wave of nerves filling his stomach when Niall opens the door, and Harry doesn't know whether they're leftovers from earlier in the evening or if they're new, but either way it makes Harry hide behind Niall as best he can.

"Hey, Louis?" Niall peers into the room.

Laughter can be heard from inside the room, and Harry wonders what Liam and Louis are doing in there that's so funny. And it's weird, because that must be the first time he's heard Louis laugh. Which doesn't help Harry's nerves at all.

"Niall!" Louis beams, happy to see him.

But instead of entering, Niall still hovers by the doorway. "How you doin'?"

There's a short pause, and Harry starts to think they're having some sort of private, silent conversation until Louis says, "Why are you lingering by the doorway like a freak, Niall? Come on in."

Harry feels his chest tighten and almost taps Niall on the shoulder to tell him not to worry about it but then Niall's saying "Is it alright if Harry comes in?"

And Harry feels like the second pause lasts an eternity. All he can see is the back of Niall and a crack in the door, nothing else.

But then he hears Louis say, "Who, Harry Styles the infamous singer?"

And Niall nods.

There's another pause. And _dammit_ what if he says no? That's alright, then, he can return to his father and they'll probably go home. He's got himself a record deal, for Christ's sake, he should be bouncing off the walls right now. Instead, he's outside Mr Tomlinson's son's bedroom door waiting for permission to come in or not.

"Sure." Louis says. And Harry has to stop himself from grinning.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry and Niall walk into the room, Niall easing into it as though it's his own - collapsing on the space next to Liam, placing his feet up onto the coffee table, his hands tucked behind his neck - whereas Harry, on the other hand, is so hesitant, it makes Louis feel awkward to watch. He flashes a small smile to Louis, his hand popping up for a split second like a wave, and Louis doesn't even have time to smile back because Harry's already looking away.

"You alright, Louis?" Niall asks, his eyebrows rise as he glances over to him from his comfortable position.

Louis sighs, and then smiles. "Yeah, all good." He glances up at Harry, who's perched on the arm rest of the couch, furthest away from Louis. "How was dinner?"

"The usual, wasn't it?" Liam says, turning to Niall.

Niall nods, "Didn't miss out on much, just congratulatin' Harry on his deal."

Louis watches as Niall taps his hand on Harry's knee and Harry swallows hard, not daring to look up from his fumbling fingers.

"So you got the deal, huh?" Louis says, attempting at a conversation. He doesn't know why Harry's this tentative now; he wasn't like this at the coffee shop.

Harry looks up and only looks Louis in the eyes for the duration of his nod.

"Oh, congratulations, Styles." Louis praises.

He smiles shyly, "Thank you."

Louis smiles back but only because he feels the need to, not because of the record deal. If it weren't for the sake of his father's job, Louis would sit Harry down here and now and tell him to get out of it while he can.

"So, we gonna play this game or what?" Liam asks, pointing towards the loaded screen.

"Alright, Liam, no need for impatience here." Louis jokes, picking up the controllers from the table in front and dropping one onto Liam's lap.

"Hey," Harry says, quietly. Louis looks up at him almost instantly, and Harry clears his throat. "I, uh, I have this game."

"Really?" Louis says, a tad surprised because he's never known anyone else to own this before. "You any good?"

Harry shrugs, somewhat modest, and says, "I'm alright."

And his smile that follows makes a dimple on his left cheek appear, one that Louis never knew he had.

"Did you wanna verse Louis?" Liam asks him, "He's really good so don't be upset if he beats you."

It's only when Harry's walking over to sit on the other side of Louis when he realises what Liam's just said. And the couch is really only meant for two, but Harry's so slender it doesn't really make a difference. Their thighs and shoulders still touch, though.

The game starts and the battle begins straight away. Louis' character is winning, or so he thinks, until Harry's character pulls out a gun that Louis wasn't expecting, that shoots him down.

Louis gasps, "Oh, how could you kill me, Harry?"

"Sorry," Harry replies with a soft laugh.

"It's okay, though." Louis says, leaning forwards in his seat. "I was only going easy on you."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Louis nods, "watch me."

They play again and Louis' character starts up in the tower. He can see in Harry's split screen that he's in some sort of room. Louis spins his character around, and he's in the middle of trying to find Harry when all of a sudden he's already killed.

Louis stares at the screen with an opened mouth, watching the replay of Harry's character, which was actually in the same tower as him, creep up and shoot Louis' character in the back.

"But how did you _know_?"

Harry laughs, a bit louder this time, and shrugs. "I've played this map a lot. I know where everything is, like, by memory."

"Mate, you've _got_ to teach me." Louis' saying before he knows it.

♫

It's single player now, and Louis' holding the controller even though it seems like Harry should be, since he's pressing buttons non-stop, telling Louis what to do.

"Okay, now, go down this hallway..." Harry says, pressing his thumb on top on Louis', guiding the stick that makes the character move. And Louis would normally hate someone telling him what to do every two seconds, but for some reason having Harry's hand over his own isn't something he could hate. "Ooh! Now shoot!"

"Ah!" Louis shouts, spinning his character around and pressing every button, making the screen go crazy, and finally showing up with the words, 'you lost'.

"How could you not kill him?" Harry says, laughing so hard he's almost out of breath. "He was _right_ there."

"Oh, shh." Louis says, putting the controller on the coffee table, and then leaning back with his arms folded. "I was distracted."

Harry's eyes widen in amusement, and he catches his breath to say, "By what?"

And Louis starts to look around the room. Because truth is he was distracted at how close Harry was, how he actually smells _so_ good, and he was distracted by the size difference of Harry's hands to his own, and how big they were...

"Uh -- I don't... Know." Louis struggles to say, and he looks back to Harry and catches him laughing again.

He looks to Liam and Niall - who, _mistakenly_ , had become invisible to Louis for a moment there - and gives them a look. They both give him one back, with eye brows raised as their eyes move between Harry and Louis simultaneously.

Louis starts to frown.

"Did you want to try again?" Harry asks him, gesturing towards the game.

Louis gives him a generous smile, "No," he says, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder, "I think you've seen me fail enough times."

Harry's smile grows and it lights up the whole room, "I don't think you're failing."

The door opens without a knock. Louis' father stands at the doorway and his eyes burn into the hand on Harry's shoulder almost immediately. He puts on a fake smile as Liam and Niall leave, saying a quick good-bye before they exit the room.

"Harry, your father wants you."

Louis takes his hand away and folds it in his lap.

"Bye, Louis." Harry smiles, again, as he stands up from the couch.

"Bye," Louis says, trying to keep his smile to a minimum for as long as he's under his father's gaze.

"I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Uhh," Louis looks to his father, who gives him a stern look. He looks back to Harry, who's giving him the complete opposite, "yeah, sure."

Then Harry leaves, and Louis' father makes a point of slamming the door, leaving Louis to himself.

-*-

"I'll catch you later, mate." Liam tells Harry, pulling him in by the hand and giving him a short hug.

"Yeah, we'll be seein' a lot of ya now." Niall adds, giving Harry a hug too, though Niall wraps both his arms around Harry. "Since ya got the deal and everythin'."

"Cool," Harry says, and he smiles because he's glad he'll see more of them. They're not bad company and he makes this whole thing seem a little less... serious.

"Alright, _pop star_." Harry's father says, beaming. He throws an arm around Harry's shoulder, "Time to get going, I think."

"I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Harry." Mr Tomlinson calls from the bar where he's pouring himself something that looks like whiskey. His tone sounds like he's trying to sound joyful but something about him now seems off.

Harry nods and says good-bye, exiting the Tomlinson's house for the third time.

He enters the car and his father starts the engine. He remembers Mr Tomlinson as he came into Louis' room, and how he frowned. Harry hopes it wasn't _him_ that put Mr Tomlinson in a bad mood.

"So Mark was telling me some great album names and ideas for songs he wants you to produce." Harry's father says, excitement in his voice as he drives out of the long drive-way.

But instead of excitement, Harry frowns in confusion. "You mean I won't be doing my own songs?"

"You _could_ , if you wanted to." Harry's father says, but there's something in the way he says it that makes Harry think that wouldn't be the best option. "But I think Mark has a really good plan, you know, for your first album."

"First?" Harry asks, and he can feel his face warming. "You think I'll have a second?"

His father looks at him with a smile, "With what he was telling me, he knows _just_ how to put your face out there. I think your careers finally taking off."

-*-

Louis waits nervously in his room because he knows there's nowhere to go and he _knows_ that he's going to get yelled at for his actions. So he stays put, not leaving his space on the couch, and hears the front door closing and the loud footsteps coming up the stairs that can only belong to his father.

The door flies open and the sound of ice hitting glass is heard before it's seen. And Louis looks up at him, eyes firm with his hand grasped around a half-filled glass of alcohol that can now be smelt throughout the whole room.

"What have I told you before?" He says, almost shouting. He's not aiming for an answer but Louis tries to give him one anyway.

"Dad, we were just playing a game--"

"Stop that." Louis' father orders, taking a step forward, his finger held in mid-air to stop Louis from talking. Then his voice lowers, and he makes sure Louis' listening by looking into his eyes. "I don't want you fucking around with this boy like you did with the last one, am I clear?"

Louis sighs. 'The last one' was a client that had sex with Louis _one time_ and for some reason, that made the client second guess his music career and break from Louis' father's record deal just like that. And ever since, Mr Tomlinson thinks that his own son's a bad luck charm.

"Look, dad, I--"

"Am. I. Clear?" His father asks, voice so stern it feels like it's echoing inside Louis' head.

"Yes, dad."

"Good." He smiles, but it only lasts for a millisecond. Then he looks around, and says, "Now tidy this room."

He leaves, shutting the door behind him. And Louis' left completely puzzled, because as he looks around the room, it's absolutely spotless.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Harry pours himself a glass of juice and drinks it in one go, spotting his father down at the table, reading the local newspaper.

He looks up at Harry when he enters, taking off his reading glasses.

"When’s your first exam?" He asks. Harry finished school one week ago. The curriculum is still going, but Harry’s finished everything he’s been set so he doesn’t see the point in going anymore.

He checks the piece of paper he was handed at the front office, now stuck on the fridge.

"Uhh," Harry says, trailing his finger across the exam timetable, "three weeks from now."

"You’ve been studying?"

"Yes."

"Are you confident?"

"Yes, dad, why?" Harry asks, running tap water into the glass he used.

"I just don’t want you thinking school isn’t important, that’s all."

Harry shakes his head but his father doesn’t see him, only puts his glasses back on and returns to the newspaper.

♫

They pull up to the Tomlinson’s house, and for the first time, Harry doesn’t feel that sense of nervousness anymore. It’s more excitement than anything, since now they’re planning his album. His _album_. The thought of it sends a satisfying chill down his spine, and finds himself smiling, sudden energy and determination coursing through his veins.

"Okay, I’ll pick you up at three."

Harry turns to his father, and the feeling almost washes away like water. “You’re not coming in with me?”

"No, I’ve got work to do." He says, and smiles, almost apologetic. "You’ll be right, won’t you?"

"Yeah," Harry nods, and looks towards the massive front door, nodding again, this time to himself.

He says good-bye and doesn’t even have to knock before the double doors are opening for him, displaying the line of neutral male workers in suits and spotless floorboards.

Mr Tomlinson appears with his regular smile and greets Harry, ushering him into the house, telling him to make himself at home. But it’s hard to make a home out of something that doesn’t look like one at all. As nice as it looks, he can’t picture himself living in something so posh.

He’s being guided towards the same room where they confirmed Harry’s record deal, and they both sit down on opposite sides of the rounded table.

"So, Harry!" Mr Tomlinson begins, enthusiasm through his voice as he separates some pages on the table, "Let’s talk about your album."

-*-

If Louis is honest with himself, he’d say that the only reason why he pulled himself out of bed was because he heard Harry’s voice from downstairs. But Louis isn’t honest with himself, so he says that the reason he woke up was because he was hungry, which, at least, is half true.

He has a shower first, and brushes his teeth - even though he’s about to eat - and puts on clothes that aren’t sloppy, but clothes that doesn’t make him look like he’s trying too hard, either.

Then he jogs down the stairs, taking them two at a time before he waves hello to Marie.

"You’re up!" She says, surprised. She’s got a vacuum in one hand and a cloth over her shoulder. Louis has to tilt his head downwards to look at her.

"Uh huh," Louis says with a smile, patting her warmly on her shoulder, "and you didn’t even have to wake me."

"Important day?" She asks, eyes wide as they always are when she asks questions.

"Not really." Louis shrugs, "Anything interesting happening here?"

She points towards the corridor, “Curly boy. Talk with your father.” She says, her lack of English showing through. “I go now.”

She gives Louis a curt nod and starts heading towards the stairs. Louis looks to where she had pointed, and realises that his father must be talking with Harry about the upcoming album.

He thinks about what his father said last night and wonders what would happen if Louis _did_ muck around with Harry. That would piss his father off, right? And what would happen then? He’d be yelled at, probably be hit a few times here and there. But what else?

Eventually it’d be enough to send Louis back home, even before his mother gets back.

Really, it’s a win/win situation. Louis gets to go back home and his father gets to go back to his business without worrying about his son.

So, Louis walks up to the corridor, pressing his ear against the wall once he’s at the room they’re in.

"Fourteen tracks." He hears his father say, "Pop. Eleven dance tracks and three slower songs. How do feel about that?"

"Sounds cool." Harry says. And Louis doesn’t know why, but he rolls his eyes. "But maybe we should even out the tempo of the album, you know? Have an even set of slow and fast songs."

Louis walks to the doorway and sees Harry facing him, but he doesn’t notice Louis, he’s too transfixed on what his now-boss is saying.

"Okay, but what about the single?" He asks, but in a way that’s not directed as a question. " _That_ should be a fast song, to get people interested in your music."

Louis watches as Harry’s eyes drop to the table. He’s nodding his head left to right, thinking about it.

And that’s when Louis hears himself say, “I think the song he sang should be his first single.”

They both look up and stare at Louis. Harry grins straight away, whereas his father glares at him like that’s the worst thing he’s ever said.

"Louis," He says firmly, "you’re not allowed in here."

"But I’m not in there," Louis says innocently, "I’m in the corridor."

His father forces a short laugh, one so hollow and weak it’s almost frightening. His smile is grinning but his eyes are not.

"Always the joker, this one." He says, pointing to Louis while he looks at Harry. And Harry flashes a smile but it’s gone as soon as Mr Tomlinson looks away. "Don’t you have something to do?"

Louis shakes his head at his father’s attempt at a polite question. “That song,” he says to Harry, completely ignoring his father, “how did it go again?”

" _Louis_ ," His father almost spits through gritted teeth.

"Don’t Let Me Go?" Harry says, tilting his head a little.

Louis can literally see the fume rising in his father’s eyes. He’s glaring at Louis like no tomorrow and Louis wonders how far he can push it before he snaps.

"Yeah, nice song." Louis praises, and he watches as Harry smiles down at his feet, his cheeks starting to blush. "It should be the first song."

"That’s great, Louis," His father warns, nostrils starting to flare, "but that’s not your decision to make."

Louis shrugs his shoulders at his father and winks at Harry before leaving, “Was only a suggestion.”

-*-

He groans and mutters under his breath something rude, along with, “He’s gonna pay for that,” and it makes Harry fidget around in his chair.

Mr Tomlinson had slammed the door shut right when Louis started to walk away. Harry doesn’t know what’s going on there, and he’s not sure whether he wants to find out.

"Maybe we should… Take a break?" Harry suggests, seeing how flustered his boss is now.

"A break?" He asks, checking his watch, "You alright with that?"

"Yeah, I mean," Harry shrugs, "why not?"

Mr Tomlinson pauses in his chair for a while, unsure. Then it’s like a switch and he’s standing up, telling Harry to come with him.

They walk out into the kitchen, where Louis is. He’s waiting by the toaster, with a cup of something hot held in his hand. He looks up and his eyes brighten, then he sees his father enter in after Harry and they dim.

"Did you want some food, Harry?" Mr Tomlinson asks, pointing towards the fridge.

Louis’ toast pops and he spins around to it excitedly, setting his drink down onto the bench next to it.

"No, thank you." Harry answers, watching as Mr Tomlinson nods once and makes his way over to the bar on the other side.

When Louis turns back around with his buttered toast, he gives Harry a look.

"So," He says, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, though he’s only directing it to Harry. "You’re gonna be a millionaire soon."

Harry widens his eyes, “Uhh, I don’t think so.”

"Aww," Louis makes a face and places his hand on Harry’s shoulder, "don’t put yourself down! You’re gonna go _far_ , I can tell."

He’s smiling as he says it but Harry can sense something bitter behind it. Something bitter about fame, or money. And when Louis drops his hand and picks up his toast, his eyes flicker up to look at his father.

He slides his plate across the bench so he’s directly opposite Harry, almost as though he wants to make a point of being this close to him.

"We’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other now," He says, looking up at Harry. His perfect blue eyes that shine a different way in this light makes Harry swallow down his nerves. "I don’t know about you, but that makes me _very_ happy."

"Alright!" Mr Tomlinson’s voice bounds through the room. Harry’s head turns around, noticing the redness in his boss’ cheeks as he clutches onto a glass of whiskey, almost desperately. "Break time’s over."

He walks over and taps Harry firmly on the arm, telling him to follow. He doesn’t miss the glare directed to Louis, and before Harry leaves he watches as fear flickers in Louis’ face - but only for a second - before he’s smiling again.

-*-

Louis ends up back in his room after breakfast, since Harry’s been taken away into the room he’s not allowed in for the rest of the time. But he’s fairly certain he’s done enough to tick his father off to a whole new extent, which has probably disturbed the album making process. And that makes Louis feel a little guilty, but he thinks about his goal and suddenly the guilt’s gone.

The T.V’s on but Louis’ tuned out completely. To be fair, his stomach’s churning and his nails are vanishing underneath his teeth and his mind is too busy being filled with thoughts of his angry father to be sitting here watching television.

And as he hears the good-bye’s of Harry and the promises of coming back next week, Louis stops moving all together. When the front door closes, he feels like jumping out the window.

There’s no hesitation from when the door closes to when footsteps can be heard, climbing the stairs.

So Louis blurts out, “I’m naked!”

But of course that doesn’t work. And the door’s being flung open, with his father standing there furious, his eyes burning into Louis’ head.

"This needs to stop, Louis. Now." He spits, his voice sounding like a growl. "One more flirtatious look and I _swear_ you’ll be doing hard labour around this house until I say so."

He doesn’t wait for Louis to respond. Instead he flashes him one more look as a warning and turns to leave.

But Louis isn’t finished yet.

"Do you know how _unfair_ / this is?" He says before his father shuts the door. "I’m twenty years old, dad. I could literally be back home living in that house by myself right now. But because mum won’t allow it and because you won’t lend us money I’m _forced_ to live here."

This makes his father swallow harshly. He tightens his grip on the door handle and breaks Louis’ gaze. Then he looks back at him, tilting his head.

"Well," He says, and begins to exit again, "maybe if you had some friends back home you could’ve lived with them instead."

And he shuts the door before Louis can throw the remote at his head.

♫

The receptionist floats around the room, answering calls and writing stuff down on the many sheets attached to her clipboard. She’s always busy and unable to talk whenever Louis sees her around. And she’s only ever here when Louis’ father’s out for the day.

The receptionist’s writing a cheque under Mr Tomlinson’s name when Louis peers over her shoulder. She looks at him sharply, the frown she always seems to have behind her glasses deepening.

"So," Louis says, backing off a little, "when’s Harry Styles visiting again?"

He tries to crane his neck to have a look at her clipboard but she snatches it away possessively.

"Monday." She states, not having to check.

"Oh." Louis frowns. Then goes to look for his phone but realises it’s upstairs. "What’s today?"

"Friday."

She returns back to her cheque, her clipboard now held directly underneath her arm. Louis feels his chest tighten but he doesn’t know why.

And then it hits him.

He climbs the staircase faster than he’s ever done in his life and picks up his phone as soon as he finds it. He dials the first number in his log book and holds the phone up to his ear.

But his excitement dies down to nothing as the same monitor voice talks back to him.

His mother’s home _tomorrow_ and she’s still not anywhere with service. Road trips are supposed to involve driving around to different places, if she’s doing that then why hasn’t she been able to contact him?

Louis flops down onto his bed and exhales dramatically. He stares at the ceiling and his mind drifts off, coincidentally the tune of Harry’s song plays in his head. Which makes him think of Harry. And he closes his eyes and pictures Harry’s smile and his big, captivating green eyes and fluffy hair. He thinks about his laugh that he’s only heard once or twice, and his long body that Louis would fall perfectly into.

And he keeps that vision in his mind as he finds himself drifting off to sleep.

♫

When he wakes he has no clue of the time, but finds the sun still shining through his window so he mustn’t have slept for too long, though it feels like it’s been days.

He drags his hands over his eyes tiredly and realises the sound of the lawn mower is what woke him. He looks out the window to see one of his father’s workers in the back yard mowing the lawn with earmuffs on. Louis flips him the finger for waking him up and rolls out of bed.

"Well he’s going to have to stay here then, isn’t he?"

"But you don’t understand, he _hates_ it here."

Louis pauses at his door, hearing the conversation between his father and the receptionist downstairs.

"Mr Tomlinson, I don’t know what you’re considering but he has nowhere else to go."

He hears his father sigh and Louis waits for another word but there is none.

He begins to walk down and he catches his father’s eye, “What was that all about?”

"Your mother called."

Louis almost trips and falls down the stairs. “ _What_?”

His father doesn’t continue until Louis’ near him, and he gestures for Louis to take a seat on the couch. He does and his father follows.

"She told me she’s got your missed calls and says she can’t get one bar of signal up there."

"Then how did she call you? Why didn’t she call _me_? Call her back!"

Louis realises he’s shouting before he can stop it. And he checks his phone, only to see no attempts of his mother calling him whatsoever. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"She was calling from a pay phone, I told her I’d—"

"No, no, no. I was _right there_. Why didn’t you tell me?" Louis stands, and he knows he’s waving his hands around but he doesn’t care, "Do you _know_ how many times I’ve tried to get in touch with her?"

"I do. But her time was limited and—"

"Jesus _Christ_."

He collapses onto the couch again and leans his head back onto it. The _one_ time he gets to talk to his mother and he’s asleep. Why? _Why_?

There’s a few minutes of silence as Louis stays still and his father sits next to him, showing the most patience he’s ever given Louis in his life.

Then Louis tilts his head towards him, and asks, “What did she say? Does she miss me?”

"Of course she does." His father says, and there’s a touch of something in his voice that Louis can’t pinpoint but it’s almost warm. He places a hesitant hand on Louis’ knee, and doesn’t quite meet his eye when he says, "But she’s not getting home till next month."

 


	5. Chapter 5

Harry's never been the best as geography. He's an A grade student in all his classes except this one and with his exams in a few weeks, he feels like he needs to brush up on the world before he can feel confident enough.

Especially with his father always nagging him about being one hundred per cent sure about each subject, Harry feels as though if he doesn't do extremely well, his father will be lecturing him until his mouth falls off.

But it's been three hours and Harry's downed about six coffees and gone through the same CD twice already and he feels as though his head's about to explode.

So when his father comes into his room and sighs when he sees Harry still sat at his desk with paper worksheets sprawled out in front of him, he tells Harry to go out and get some fresh air, and Harry's already out of his chair before he can even blink.

He decides to walk down to the park that's located a few roads from his house. He remembers when he and his mother used to walk down the same path, and how she used to tell stories of when she was younger, stories that made Harry laugh.

He smiles now, with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, forgetting how cold it usually gets this time of year. The park's empty when he reaches it, and it's not surprising. It's nothing special, just an open piece of land with an old swing set and a slide, with a small pond that's probably grown moss over the years.

But as Harry walks through a bit more, he spots a familiar figure next to the pond, throwing in bits of food to all the ducks that now love him. Harry notices the way his shirt clings to his body, and the dip in his back, along with the brown, soft hair on top of his head - and he smiles as he realises it's Louis.

"You know, bread makes ducks blow up," He calls as he walks over. Louis turns and notices Harry and laughs.

Then Louis looks back down at the chunk of bread he's holding and starts to pick at it, and Harry notices the glow that's missing from his eyes.

"You okay?" He asks him, cautious. He remembers back at the coffee shop when they met for the first time, when he asked Louis something personal. His arms create goose-bumps when he thinks of it.

But instead of a vicious glare and snappy reply, Louis just sits down on the nearby bench, waiting for Harry to follow.

"Been better, I suppose." He says as Harry takes a seat next to him. "I just, like, I wish I was back home, you know?"

Harry frowns, confused. "Why're you here, then?"

And Louis laughs again, shaking his head. "That's not my house. My real one is ages away from here, I'd have to fly."

"Oh." Harry says, trying to understand. But honestly he's still confused. "What's so special over there?"

"Nothing at the moment." He shrugs, "But anything's better than here."

"You don't like your dad?" Harry asks, but he doesn't phrase it like a question. It's more of an observation, and it's quite clear that it's true.

"I don't think anyone does, to be fair." Louis says, and Harry opens his mouth but Louis stops him before he can speak. "And please, _don't_ say that you do. I'd have to walk away."

"Well, then," He says with a smile, "if that's the case then I absolutely _hate_ your father."

Louis smiles back and it's like a train just hit Harry in the chest. It's the first time Louis' ever looked at him like that, and even if it does only last for a second, it makes Harry's entire body run a shiver - and he's sure it wasn't the weather.

"So," Louis says, now looking over at the ducks in the pond, "did you walk down here?"

"Uh," Harry clears his throat, still staring at Louis, and it's sickening because his profile is great, too. "Yeah, I did. I only live a few streets away, so."

"Oh, really?" He asks, now looking with such curiosity it gets Harry's heart pumping faster than usual. "Walks are nice, aren't they? They clear your mind, I reckon."

Harry nods because he doesn't want to ruin the sound of Louis' voice echoing inside his head. It's insane, but he's decided at this moment that he could listen to him talk all day.

"Oh!" Louis says, looking up at the sky. Harry sees a spot of rain on Louis' light jeans (and tries not to admire how greatly they fit him) and sees the clouds above them turning darker.

"Shit," Harry says, flipping the hood over his head, "did you wanna, uh, go to my house?"

"Yeah, sure," Louis says, "or I could get into my car and drive home."

Harry blinks and looks down at his fingers again, "Oh, uh. Yeah, yeah of course. You go--"

"I'm kidding."

And Harry looks up to see a grin spread across Louis' face as Louis taps Harry's shoulder, standing up. Harry forces a laugh and follows suit, and they walk together in the lightest of rain.

♫

They get to Harry's doorstep in the nick of time, before the rain starts to bucket down like it's the heaviest thing on Earth. Harry opens the door and shuffles Louis in first, hand on his waist. It's not until he closes the door and enters the room where his father sits when Harry realises he's still got his hand placed on Louis' waist.

He drops it immediately, in the same second that his father looks up through his glasses, holding a book in his hands.

"Ah, Louis!" He beams, taking off his glasses and shutting his book.

"Hey, Mr Styles."

"Did Harry find you on the streets?" He jokes, a deep laugh coming from his mouth. Louis forces one out, giving him his best smile.

"Uh, yeah," Harry intervenes before it gets a little awkward, "we're just gonna..."

"Oh!" His father says, almost startled like he's forgotten something. He waves them off hurriedly, "Yes, go, go."

Harry guides Louis down the skinny corridor. He looks around his own place and bites his lip, not even wanting to know what Louis' thinking right now. He almost doesn't want to open the door on the left, doesn't want to show Louis his small, narrow excuse for a bedroom.

But he does, and he lets Louis go in first.

He looks around and Harry waits by the door. He watches as Louis runs a finger along the tiny desk, fiddles with Harry's singing competition trophies he won when he was younger, and to Harry's amazement, Louis smiles.

"This is nice," He says, regarding the room as he looks back at Harry.

"Bit of a shithole." Harry shrugs, finally closing the door behind him, "But, you know."

And Louis shakes his head, "No, it's not. It reminds me of my house back home."

He pictures Louis living in a house like this one, all cramped and cheap. It's hard to imagine, though, since all Harry's seen Louis in is a house that's ten times larger and classier than Harry's will ever be.

Louis climbs onto Harry's single-sized bed, one that's so small it makes Harry's ankles fall off the edge of it when he lies down straight. It's old and it creaks whenever you move the slightest bit but it's got an imbedded groove in the mattress that's shaped in the position that Harry sleeps and he sort of likes that about it.

Louis shifts his way to the head of the bed and sits cross-legged, eyes flicking up to meet Harry's. He pats the mattress, "C'mon, then."

Harry realises how creepy he must seem standing there watching as Louis moves around the room. So he quickly peels himself off the wall and joins Louis on the bed - furthest away possible.

Next to Louis is a stack of CD's, half are his father's, half his mother's, but most are his own. Louis' finger trails down the pile, reading each name until he gives up.

He drops his finger and looks to Harry, unamused, "I don't know any of those artists. I feel so uneducated."

Harry laughs quietly, "Don't worry, not many people do. Half of them are from my parent's era, so."

"Oh, really?" Louis asks, and then looks at the CD's again, checking. He looks back to Harry and searches his face for something until he says, "Where is your mum? Don't see much of her, only your dad."

There's tightness in Harry's chest that starts to burn and Harry has to bring his knees up to press against the hurting as subtly as possible. He avoids Louis' eyes and finds it pathetic that he still reacts this way whenever someone mentions her.

"She, uh," He clears his throat, unaware of the sudden dryness of it, "she passed away when I was younger."

"Oh, shit, fuck," Louis covers his eyes with his hands, teeth gritted together as though he were in pain. Then his hand drops to Harry's shoes, his eyes softened. "I'm really sorry about that, really."

Harry shakes it off and flashes him a quick smile. He hates the fact that this suddenly brings the whole room down and with a bright light like Louis, it seems like a broken rule to have that.

So he clears his throat once more and looks towards his music. "So, what do you listen to, then?"

"I, uh, I mainly listen to The Killers? I don't know if you've heard them, but I'm also a massive fan of The Fray?"

He keeps saying it in questions, like he's waiting for Harry to nod or quirk an eyebrow in response.

"But, yeah, judging by this _impressive_ collection over here, our tastes are completely different."

Harry shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. "Maybe we can educate each other."

Louis glances down as his fingers play with the bed sheets, a smile growing. "Yeah."

Harry takes the time to look at the way Louis' eyelashes curl when he looks down, or the way his cheekbones stand out when he smiles, or the way his fingers are so delicate when they move. He also takes the time to see how _small_ his whole entire being is. He's tucked into the very corner of Harry's bed, legs folded underneath each other, his tiny feet only just poking out. And his hands, ones that Harry could probably hold in only one of his.

And when Louis looks back up Harry turns and pretends to be focused on the window.

"So," He says, starting to make conversation again, "are you at your dad's often?"

"Eh," Louis shrugs, the top corner of his lip rising slightly. "Not often, but every now and then."

"Does he have new clients every time you visit?"

Louis lets out a short laugh, "Yeah, basically. Before you there was one other boy that I got to see."

There's a flicker of something in Louis' eyes when he says that, but he turns them away too fast for Harry to pick up on it.

"Oh? What was his name?" Harry asks, hoping it wasn't confidential or something.

"Zayn." Louis says with a sigh.

Harry nearly falls off the bed.

" _Zayn_?" He asks, eyes wide, "Zayn Malik?"

Louis snaps his fingers in recognition, "Yeah! That's the one!"

And Harry feels like he's going to have a heart attack.

"Wait," Louis’ voice is timid when he asks, "How do you know him?"

It's like a kaleidoscope of memories overtake Harry's mind for the slightest second. Hearing his name out loud is so much stronger than when it's only heard in his head, and the images of Zayn - the boy who was the only one _there_ for Harry when his mother died - continue to swirl around until he finds himself saying his name.

"Zayn..." He sighs, shaking his head with a fond smile. He glances back up at Louis sheepishly, hesitant on how Louis might react to the next part of his sentence.

"Back then, we were like, you know," Harry says, waving his hands, unable to speak the words. What's he supposed to say? 'Zayn and I were fucking'? But Harry sees Louis nodding, understanding, and it puts him at ease.

"And we went to school together and he lived on my street and we spent literally every day together." He continues, finding himself smiling at the memory of being so close. "But then, you know, that sort of fell through for a few weeks, and he said his uncle was sick and that he had to move away." Harry shrugs, "We used to call each other and stuff but now I never hear from him."

"Wow, that's weird."

Harry looks at Louis, frowning, "Why is that weird?"

"No, no!" Louis waves his hands, "Not, like, your _story_ was weird but like, the fact that we both know him is... weird."

He drops his eyes and his forehead bunches together, as though he's frustrated with himself. Harry feels a strange sensation in his stomach and suddenly looking at Louis with his lips pouted slightly and his eyes glancing downwards, makes him feel a little lighter.

"Did you know him well, then?" Harry asks, wondering if Louis gets this close with all his father's clients - wondering how close he's _allowed_ to get with his father's clients.

And Louis sort of scoffs, as though 'knowing him well' is an understatement.

"You said, uh, you said you and Zayn fell through, yeah?" He says, his finger rubbing at the space between his eyebrows.

"Are you avoiding my question, Louis?"

And when Louis looks at him this time, there's something different in his eyes, as though it's the first time he's seeing Harry. But then he regains himself and averts his gaze again, frowning.

"No, no," He says, and... And is he blushing? "No, I just need to know. Or else my answer to your question might make things a little, uh, awkward."

If Harry was drinking something it would've surely been spat across the room by now. But his eyes still blow wide enough to be popped out of his head, and Louis brings his knees up to his chest, looking even smaller than he was before.

"So, you mean..." Harry rubs his nose, "you and Zayn..."

"Yep," Louis says, his voice sounding more of a squeak than anything.

"Wow."

And it's not like Harry's upset, because as he recalls, Zayn had broken things off a few weeks before he flew away. Which means he and Louis would've only started doing... _that_ when they weren't together anymore.

But it _is_ unsettling to know how quickly he could move on, also how Zayn never told Harry he could sing - let alone telling him that he had a _record_ deal - and suddenly it's like a realisation that maybe Harry didn't even know Zayn at all.

Then again, his stomach twists in a way that's almost exciting. Because Louis' sitting at the edge of Harry's bed, and they've both revealed their sexualities to each other - and Louis' so pretty, curled up and worried at how Harry's reacting right now - and he's _so_ aware of the space between them it's insane.

"Are- are you okay?" Louis asks him quietly, concerned whether Harry was hurt or not.

And Harry nods, "Yeah, yeah. It's kind of laughable, actually."

"Did you know? That he was signed to a record deal, that is."

Harry's bottom lip folds over his top as he shakes his head. "I had no clue he could even sing."

"Fuck, man." Louis adjusts his position, stretching his legs out so he's not curled in a ball anymore. "That must be so crazy for you. Like, I'm coming in here tellin' you about this boy that you've known your whole life, that he could've been famous and you didn't even, like, you didn't even _know_."

"Yeah..." Harry trails off, and then his forehead starts to crease and he says, "Yeah, why didn't he become famous?"

Louis lets out a short, bitter laugh and tilts his head back onto the headboard. "Dad thinks it was _my_ fault that he cancelled the record deal, because I was 'fraternising' with him." He rolls his eyes, "He said I made it hard for Zayn to concentrate or whatever."

"Well, now you can tell him the real reason." Harry smiles, but Louis doesn't give him one back.

Instead he lets out a stumped sound and looks up at the ceiling, "Nah, he won't listen to me."

In that moment, as Louis' tilting his head back, exposing his neck to full view, also with his body stretched out on the bed, Harry has a sudden urgency to know what it feels like pressed up to Louis' chest. His arms wrapped around Louis' body, Harry's leg slotted between Louis' thighs with Louis' fingers brushing through Harry's hair.

And, fuck, yes, he _really_ wants to know what that feels like.

"Wow, how is it already getting dark?"

Harry peers out the window as Louis says that and finds the sun setting, the sky turning all shades of sunset. He looks to the clock on his bedside table.

"It's five-thirty." Harry says, and Louis' face shows a sign of alarm.

He's fetching his phone out of his pocket and looking down at the screen, biting his lip.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks, and Louis looks up and puts his phone back.

"Uh, nothing. Don't worry about it." He smiles, and looks towards the door. "Hey, uh, do you reckon your dad will mind driving me back home?"

"You could stay here, if you want."

Harry tried, he _tried_ to bite his tongue before that slipped out but it's too late and Louis' already looking at him like he did before and _wow_ Harry's hands are sweaty.

"Oh, I, uh, that'd be cool, but," Louis says, and Harry feels a thousand knifes stabbing him all at once, "my dad's sort of wanting me home, like now."

So Harry says good-bye to Louis at the doorstep. He tells Louis he'll see him again this week and Louis shakes his hand and gives him a smile - and Harry's finding himself waving to Louis until the car's out of sight.

-*-

"Where the _fuck_ have you been?"

Are the first words that Louis' greeted with when he steps foot into the house. And it's almost laughable because, in that car ride with Harry's father, he felt like he bonded better with him in those short few minutes than he's ever bonded with his own father during his whole life.

He keeps his head down, tossing off his shoes before saying, "I went for a walk."

"Oh, a walk? That's lovely, isn't it? Would've been lovelier if you picked up your goddamn phone!" He shouts, eyes burning into Louis' head from across the room.

Louis doesn't need to know what's made him this angry, he just hears the familiar sound of ice hitting glass with liquid in it to know that he's already drunk off whiskey.

"Sorry, dad, I didn't hear it--"

"Bullshit you didn't hear it! You're just like your mother in that way, making up every _damn_ excuse--"

"Hey!" Louis yells, a sudden burn runs through his chest, "Don't you fucking _dare_ talk about her!"

His father stays silent for a second, and then he's bringing up the glass to his lips. Louis' too scared to move up to his room, afraid that if he made a sudden movement something might happen.

It's dark, he's noticed. The only light on is the one above the bar where his father stands. It's empty, too. No helpers or signs of staff around anywhere and the quietness of the place makes him feel cold and unsafe.

"Tell you what, Louis." His father says, slamming the glass down. His tone's changed, not aggressive anymore, but his words start to slur. "I've always admired your... _brutality_."

"Really? That's great, dad." Louis mumbles, finding it safer to walk towards the stairs, now that nobody's angry anymore.

"When you're fierce you remind me of myself." His father continues, and as Louis puts a foot on the first stair he sighs and glances back at him. "You always were a bit like me, you know, even though you hate me."

He's not even looking at Louis anymore. He's staring at where he was standing before and there's a faint smile on him now, like he's remembering something. Louis' not sure if he's just drunk, or if he's slowly driving himself insane.

"I wish I was a better father for you, Lou, I really do."

For some odd reason, something warm is felt in the pit of his stomach. It would have more meaning, more depth, if it weren't for the whiskey in his hand and the distant glaze in his eyes. But, still. Those words still came out of his mouth, and they still mean something, at least.

"Night, dad." Louis says, for the first time since he was seven.

This makes his father smile, and he finally looks to where Louis is standing now. "Goodnight, Lou."

Louis goes to bed that night dialling his mother's number into his phone.

He doesn't know why his heart still drops when he doesn't get an answer.

♫

When he finds Harry in the house again Louis realises he doesn't want to flirt with him anymore to piss his father off.

He _wants_ to flirt with him because he loves the way he smiles shyly and dips his head, giggling softly whenever Louis makes a nice comment about his outfit or his smile. And, yes, he can also admit that he's grown to love the style of the kid's hair, too.

So, when Louis' father ends their session and says he has a meeting somewhere else, and when Harry asks if he could stay back to get familiar with the recording studio – Louis runs downstairs as soon as he hears the front door close.

"That was fast," Harry comments when he sees Louis in the lounge room.

They've been doing this for days now - secretly sneaking around behind his father's back - they don't do anything though, only talk and mess around and maybe play some video games or sit on Louis' bed with their knees touching. It's nice, really, because Harry's pretty to look at and seems to laugh at all of Louis' jokes.

"Yeah, well, there's only so much to do in a bedroom before I get bored, so."

Harry pauses before he gives him a playful smirk, "And what _were_ you doing up there, Lou?"

Louis knows how his mind works now. It's not as nice and innocent as Louis thought the inside of Harry's head would be. It's actually very dirty and flirty and filled with all types of sexual innuendos. And Louis also knows that he likes to joke around with that sort of thing, but Louis also likes to leave him stunned.

So, Louis just raises one eyebrow, says, "Wouldn't you like to know, Styles?" And winks before moving to the couch.

Harry stills, and swallows harshly. Louis laughs into his hand as he sits because he wasn't touching himself at all in his bedroom; he was actually just watching muted daytime television and listening in on Harry's conversation.

But Harry doesn't have to know that.

"You alright, there?" Louis asks him and Harry spins around, letting out a nervous laugh.

"Right, yeah, sure," He flashes an uneven smile and joins Louis on the couch, and it's like he's just had a sudden growth spurt and he's still not used to it because he's as unco-ordinated as a newborn calf.

Louis noticed how tall and skinny and _big_ Harry when they were at his house. He remembers watching as his hands move, a pair so big they could wrap around the whole of Louis' head, could probably cover the small of his back with one hand. They're so big they'd leave massive hand prints on Louis ass cheeks, smacking him so hard they'd still be covered red the next day and...

 _No_. No, he can't be thinking things like that when he's _right_ there. No.

"So, uh," Louis adjusts his position on the couch so he faces Harry, placing his closed hands subtly on the front of his jeans, (just in case), "how's the album coming along?"

"Yeah, good. Got a few tracks down already, and we've decided to go with your idea, actually."

" _My_ idea?" Louis asks, confused. Harry nods. "And what idea was that?"

"To put my song as the first single." Harry says with a smile so wide it could hurt. And Louis feels a warm sensation inside of him. That _was_ his idea.

"Wow, that's sick, isn't it?" Louis places his hand on Harry's shoulder as if to say good job. "It'll be playing on the radio, no doubt."

Harry laughs and dips his head like he always does when Louis compliments him. He's still looking at his hands when he says, "Yeah, hopefully."

And Louis tries not to sound bitter about it, (he truly does) when he says, "Get ready for all the fame and money."

Then he smiles to hide the cringe he feels when the sound of his voice comes back to him, bland and emotionless like fame and money is the worst combination you could have. He'd be lying if he didn't think it was the _best_ thing, since he still thinks about seeing Harry on the T.V years from now, washed out and unhappy with millions of dollars.

"Why don't you like it?" Harry asks unexpectedly, looking up at Louis hesitantly from underneath his eyelashes. "Fame and money, I mean. Why is that so bad?"

Louis looks at him for a few seconds and wonders if he should play it dumb and tell him he doesn't know what he's talking about, that he thinks it's great. But instead he sighs, and pats Harry on the knee twice before standing up.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Haz. You'll be fine."

He ruffles Harry's hair as he walks passed, towards the kitchen.

-*-

He's filling up a bowel with chips when Harry enters. He leans up against the counter, his elbows and arms kneeling on it as he looks at Louis. And it may be the lighting in this room, or the fact that Louis is standing right beneath the golden shimmers of the chandler, but Louis' face is literally _glowing_.

He'd try to tear his eyes away but it's so hard when someone so gorgeous is standing so close they're able to touch, but Harry's afraid that if he _were_ to touch, that he'd break. That Louis would shatter because he's so delicate. And Harry doesn't know whether that also means that if he were to touch Louis, that their relationship would shatter, too.

"Thought we could watch a movie. You down?" Louis asks him, shuffling the bag in his hand around so that every chip comes out into the bowel.

Harry nods, "Yeah, sounds good."

"Did you want a drink, by the way?"

Louis looks at him and Harry takes longer than necessary to reply, but to be fair, if Louis could see his reflection right now he'd be lost for words, too.

"Doesn't have to be alcohol, you know." Louis says, the corners of his mouth pricking with a smile.

Harry blinks his eyes away, "Oh, yeah, uh, whatever you have's fine."

Louis shrugs and turns to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of coke. He returns to the counter with two glasses and begins to pour. Harry continues to watch.

"So, have you gotten any news from your mum?" He asks, tentatively.

Louis doesn't look up at Harry. Instead he finishes pouring the second glass and sets the bottle down, then sighs.

He had told Harry about her on one of the days they had sneaking around. It was a brief conversation, one that mostly consisted of Louis shrugging a lot and repeatedly saying that he didn’t really care about staying here instead of with her, and with Harry nodding understandably the entire time.

"She said she'll be home next month, but," He shrugs again, and glances back at Harry, "who knows? With her, next month could mean anytime."

"Oh. Well, that's pretty soon, if you think about it." Harry says, and Louis looks at him with slight disagreement. "I mean, a month is only a few weeks, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. I just can't wait to go back home with her, it's so weird here."

"But then you'll be leaving me." Harry admits.

It was _supposed_ to be said as a joke, but apparently that didn't happen since, yeah, the dominant part of him didn't look forward to Louis leaving, at all.

But thank god Louis doesn't take him seriously. He lets out a scoff and shoves Harry's shoulder lightly, "Get away, you big sop. I'm not your only friend here."

Harry lets out a laugh, and scratches the back of his neck with his hand nervously. "Actually, Lou. You are."

And it's true. Since Zayn left, and since this record deal, Harry hasn't had time to go out to the parties being thrown or to become closer with his classmates over break. And it's worrying, when it's put into perspective, because Louis' really the only person he has besides his own father.

Suddenly the thought of Louis going away sends an unsettling feeling throughout his body.

But then a laugh so pure echoes through the house it makes the pain go away.

"Once you're famous, you won't _ever_ get to be alone." Louis smiles at him, his hand placed on Harry's arm. "Use this time wisely, Styles."

And Louis walks passed out of the kitchen, giving Harry a great view of his ass.

♫

Harry sits on Louis' couch, the one in his room. He always forgets how huge it is and always wishes that he didn't get reminded, since now Louis' seen his own bedroom, one that must have looked like a closet compared to this. But Louis' room is also so spotless, too. Like nobody has ever stepped foot in it, ever.

"Jesus, how do you keep something like this so clean? My room's a third of the size and I still think it's a huge effort to tidy it all."

Louis laughs and opens one of the cupboards left of the television, showcasing a broad range of movies.

"I have a maid," He says, nonchalantly and Harry instantly feels like an idiot.

"Oh," He nods, and sets down the two drinks and bowel of chips down on the table, "should've known."

Louis only laughs again and begins pulling out some films as Harry sits down on the couch. He sits on the left side, the same side he did when he first came in here and played video games with Niall and Liam. He figured that if he sat on the other side, that it may be 'Louis' side', and he'd be kicked out. Or maybe he was over-thinking and trying too hard to please Louis.

"Releasing an album is exciting stuff, isn't it?" Louis asks, still facing towards his collection, skimming his finger over it and pulling out one every so often.

Harry takes a sip of his drink, and then says, "Yeah, it's weird to think people will be listening to it soon."

Louis nods with a laugh that Harry frowns at. It's like a sweet, yet condescending sound that brings up that fear of what Louis _really_ thinks of fame.

Then he's laying out the five DVD's on the table in front of him and demanding, "Choose one."

"Why don't we have a movie night and watch them all?" Harry suggests, and notices as Louis eyes brighten, his regular smile appearing.

"I like the way you think, Styles."

After the movie starts playing, Louis sits down on the couch. And it should be stupid that Harry is paying no attention to the screen at all, and is instead paying attention to how his skin's creating goose-bumps and tickles of nerves by just having Louis _so_ close to him, their thighs almost touching. And it's also not stupid at all; because Louis' mouth is slightly parted open as his eyes are transfixed on the starting scenes of the movie, his hands sat _just_ above his waist, and his jawline is all the more prominent in the darkness.

The only light in the room is the one the T.V screen is projecting, and the dim lights from the room outside, seeping underneath the door. Outside it's dark and the first few stars are starting to appear in the sky from what Harry can see through Louis' window; though that's still not what he'd rather be focussing on at all.

And he starts to wonder if Louis can tell that Harry's angled his head in a subtle way that makes it easier for him to glance at Louis without turning his head or making it too obvious. And then Louis' shifting himself so his right foot is on the couch, shifting his whole body towards Harry just the _tiniest_ bit. If he were to move his arm from where it's draped over the couch - if he were to move his fingers ever so slightly - he'd be brushing up against Louis' shoulder.

And that'd be intimate, wouldn't it? In the darkness, with a movie on, just the two of them. He's not sure if Louis' thinking the same thing and maybe he moved closer as a hint.

Harry tears his eyes way for a moment or two, and focuses on actually attempting to watch the movie, in fear that it'd finish and Louis will start talking about it and ask him what he liked most. But when Harry starts watching, the two characters in the film start kissing. It's not a sweet kiss, either. Of course it's not. It's heated and there's a lot of touching involved and Harry's not sure if biting his lip to stay calm is going to help him.

Yet Louis is still watching as the characters continue to make out and undress each other. And oh _god_ he's so good-looking he could almost--

"Shit!" Louis gasps, jumping up from the couch in alarm.

Harry startles out from his gaze and frowns, "What, Lou?"

"Dad's home, he's--" He stops himself and there's the sound of footsteps crossing the floor downstairs. Louis lowers his voice into a whisper and gestures Harry to get off the couch urgently, "You need to hide. Like, now."

"Oh, shit," Harry stands up from the couch and walks into the middle of the room, "I thought he wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow?"

"So did I!" Louis whispers harshly, and then starts to guide Harry towards his fairly spacious bathroom, "Now hide in there until I tell you it's safe to come out, okay?"

Harry looks at him and nods obediently, and then slinks into the bathroom as Louis shuts the door and waits.

The room's colder than the bedroom, and his shoes make an echoing sound against the polished tiles, so he resorts to sitting by the door instead of standing. The room smells like vanilla and frangipanis, and the walls are made of tiles too. Though, Harry didn't know that until he leant his head onto it, surprised of the coldness and hardness of it.

Then the bedroom door opens.

"Thought you'd still be up." Harry hears through the walls. The T.V gets turned off, or muted.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't sleep." Louis replies. There's a pause. Then, "Why are you home early?"

"The meeting was cancelled. Why? You're not glad to see me?"

There's another pause.

Harry starts to feel grateful that he's in the bathroom instead of in there. He couldn't imagine the amount of tension he'd feel just by opening the door that's separating him from them.

"You know," Mr Tomlinson starts again, "you wouldn't be so unhappy if you made some friends 'round here. It's not that hard."

"I do have friends." Louis retorts.

"Yeah? And who are they?"

"Niall, Liam," Louis takes in a breath, "and Harry."

Suddenly there's a laugh.

"Harry's not your friend. You've only talked twice, if that."

Harry can't stop the tiny smirk appearing on his face.

"Yeah," Louis says, and then clicks his tongue, "I guess you're right."

"Stop being such a depressed teenage boy, alright?" Mr Tomlinson asks, but it sounds more of an order. "It gives out bad vibes throughout the house; I can almost feel your self-loathing from the drive-way."

Harry's smirk is quickly replaced by an angry frown.

"Oh, well I'm sorry, dad, for not being the most cheerful person in the world. You're not exactly giving me much to smile about." Louis replies, which makes Mr Tomlinson fall quiet for a few seconds.

Then, "Right. Well. I'll see you tomorrow. And make sure you clean your room."

The door shuts and the room stills. It's dark in the bathroom but Harry can see Louis' face in his head. He wants to give him a big hug and tell him that his father's a douche and he's sorry he didn't see that before, but the door doesn't open again for at least five minutes after Mr Tomlinson leaves.

-*-

It's normal for Louis to feel angry and the slightest bit upset whenever he and his father have conversations that end up arguments. However, what's not normal is for Louis to feel embarrassed when his father leaves the room, knowing that somebody else was listening in.

But in the back of his mind he thinks that maybe Harry didn't hear it, since he's still in the bathroom. He would've come out as soon as he heard Louis' father leave, right?

The back of his mind was wrong. Because as soon as Louis opens the bathroom door there he is - stood facing him with the biggest sympathetic expression he's ever seen.

Louis avoids his eyes and steps away from the door so Harry can enter. It's silent for a few seconds, neither of them looking at each other and Louis doesn't know why it has to be this awkward and why he has to feel this ashamed of himself for being put down in front of someone else.

Then he gets sick of the silence easily, and says, "Did you wanna, uh, did you wanna stay the night?" Harry turns to him, his eyes are still sympathetic but his smile reads hopeful. "You know, so you can sneak out when my dad's busy in the morning?"

Harry nods immediately, "Yeah, yeah. Sure." He glances over to the bed and Louis feels a rush of panic fill his body.

"Uh, so I'll get some blankets and pillows from the cabinet for you." He rushes out, and then walks swiftly over to the linen closet near his bed.

He doesn't know why he's so eager for Harry to be sleeping on the couch. He doesn't know why he's suddenly so eager to go to sleep, at all. Maybe it's to do with the fact that if his father found out they slept in the same bed - if he found out that Harry was _here_ \- then Harry's contract would end and Louis would be sent home to nothing.

"Does he-" Harry begins, then stops himself. He waits until Louis turns around; arms filled with sheets and pillows, and lowers his voice, cautious. "Does your dad always talk to you like that?"

Louis shrugs. He looks at Harry for a few seconds then starts to walk towards the couch.

"Do you mean 'always' as in, since he started becoming a millionaire? Or since he left me and my mum?" Louis asks, but doesn't phrase his voice as a question. He sees Harry wincing slightly at his words, but continues anyway. "Yeah, always. It's charming, isn't it?"

He shakes out the sheet in his hands and starts to lay it out onto the couch, but the material decides to clump at the ends, no matter how hard he shakes it. And it's funny how it works like that - how, no matter how hard you shake the sheet, it never lays out perfectly. No matter how many times you've tried, it's still a crumpled mess in front of you, and it won't get fixed unless you walk around to the other side.

It's not until Louis feels Harry's hand on his back when he realises he's practically abusing the unco-operative piece of material in his hands. He looks up at the kind face observing him. His green eyes shimmering as they glance at Louis with so much empathy it's pathetic.

"Here, let me," Harry says, tone soft.

Louis lets his features relax and then sighs. He nods once and moves away, watching as Harry lifts up the sheet and places it down in one swift movement. And, of course, it lies down perfectly.

Louis doesn't mean to scoff, but when he does, Harry looks at him with a confused frown.

"Sorry, it's just," Louis smiles at the irony and shakes his head, "you're just all-round flawless, aren't you?"

"What?"

And even with a scrunched up face he still looks bloody perfect. Because he is. He's got the hair, the eyes, the to-die-for smile. He's even got the long legs and strong features, not to mention the killer voice. It's a wonder why he's here, staying in Louis' bedroom when he could be out there, going to night clubs and getting with whomever the hell he wanted.

But Louis doesn't want that. He wants Harry to stay here, with him. He doesn't want Harry to get a big head before his career begins, knowing that after this album, Louis will lose Harry completely.

So, Louis shakes his head, "Doesn't matter. Forget I said anything, yeah?"

Harry nods slowly, his cute little face frowning ever so slightly in confusion. But, without another word, he continues to make his own bed for the night.

"Too bad we didn't get to finish the movie, hey?" Harry asks when he's done, now sitting on the couch.

"Yeah," Louis says, shrugging his shoulders, "Oh, well. Just means you'll have to come over again to finish it, doesn't it?"

He places a hand on Harry's shoulder and watches as his smile grows. Then he squeezes it and walks over to the light, switching it off and jumps into his own bed.

"Night, Lou."

Louis smiles, "Night, Styles."

And as the room falls quiet, Louis' head doesn't shut up. He really wants to sleep, he does. But knowing that Harry's _right_ there, sleeping in the same room, makes Louis heart almost pump out of his chest.

Suddenly, but not suddenly at all, Louis feels an overwhelming want to have Harry there next to him, his body close to his own.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so bland! It was more of a fill-in chapter, but I promise from here on things get very interesting ;)


	6. Chapter 6

A week later and the album has finally been finished. Because although Louis had loved hearing the sound of Harry’s voice singing throughout the house - every song differing from the next - there’s still that ever-growing fear bubbling inside of Louis that he’ll lose him to the press.

He told Harry he’ll buy the album and support him because of _course_ he will. He still hasn’t picked up the courage to tell Harry how he really feels and as the days came closer and closer to the album release date, Louis’ necessity to tell him grows and grows.

But then again, what will that do? He’ll tell Harry that he hates fame and what it does to people, tell him that he doesn’t want to see him turn into something he’s not, and so? Harry would just smile, tell Louis it’s alright, and go on thriving to be a rich and famous singer.

"This calls for a celebration, doesn’t it?" His father’s voice bounds through the hallway until he enters into the lounge room where Louis’ sat.

Harry’s following after Mr Tomlinson, grinning like he just won the lottery. And he has, hasn’t he?

"Louis, mate!" His father beams, shaking his fingertips in his hair as Louis tries to move out of his touch. "Be happy for my client, would you? This is big stuff!"

Harry looks at Louis and his smile tones down a little, his eyes becoming more empathetic then they were last week in Louis’ bedroom.

And because Louis doesn’t want his father finding out that he and Harry are more than acquaintances and because he doesn’t want Harry feeling sorry anymore for how his father treats him, Louis puts on a grin.

"Congratulations, Styles." He says, holding out his hand. Harry takes it, his palm warm against his own. "I like your stuff."

They’re not even shaking hands; they’re just holding them there with Harry’s thumb brushing ever so slightly over Louis’.

"That’s good," Harry says, eyes locked with his, "because I like y—"

"Now, Harry!" Mr Tomlinson’s voice shoots through the room, causing any contact Harry and Louis once had to break. "Come with me, I want you to meet some _very_ important people."

"Uhh, okay, sure."

Louis watches as Harry reluctantly follows Mr Tomlinson out of the room like he has no other choice. Still, he really _doesn’t_ have another choice. But Harry still flashes Louis an apologetic look, as though it were otherwise.

♫

The party starts at five, and with the amount of people there already - the ones that have to organise and help out, none of the guests have arrived yet since it’s only four-thirty - Harry’s able to sneak up into Louis’ room without anyone batting an eyelid.

They’re already dressed, since Louis’ father had ordered them to be the first ones ready because it’s “professional” that way. And Harry’s dressed in the tightest black jeans Louis’ ever seen, with a belt tied around it to keep them from falling off his slender hips. He’s wearing a flannel; one that has the first three buttons undone so his small necklace can be seen on his chest.

Without a doubt, Louis had to keep his mouth from falling open when he saw him.

They sit on Louis’ bed, both lounging up near the head of it. And Harry has his arm wrapped lazily around Louis’ shoulders so they can fit on it together - and although it should be fine, to have Harry around him  - Louis can’t help but feel a nervous sensation throughout his body when Harry’s looking like _this_.

It’s quiet for a while, both looking out the window onto the backyard. There’s about fifteen workers there, setting up chairs and tables and stereos and lights. It’s almost weird to think that this is all for Harry.

"I hope my dad isn’t gonna steal you for the whole night." Louis says eventually, tracing his finger along the length of the windowsill.

"Me too," Harry says with an honest laugh. "I don’t exactly want to spend my first party in a while with an older man."

Louis laughs in his throat as his lips pull into a smile, “Who do you wanna spend it with?”

He looks up at Harry, and finds his stomach swooping when Harry looks at him, too. Their faces inches apart, it’s impossible to miss the sly smile Harry puts on.

"You." He says.

The air stills for a moment. Louis wonders for a second if this is another one of Harry’s ‘stupid’ moments were he likes to play around with Louis’ head. But then he catches Harry’s eyes as they flicker down to Louis’ lips and then he thinks that maybe it’s not.

Then Harry places the hand that was around Louis onto his shoulder, moving them in closer together. Louis has to catch his breath again.

"Yeah," Louis says, quietly, "I wanna be with you too."

It’s a second before their foreheads touch, and Harry’s other hand brushes up against Louis’ jaw.

"Harry! Harr— has anyone seen Harry Styles?"

"Fucking _hell_." Louis groans, finding his father’s voice more revolting than ever.

Harry drops his hand and loosens his grip on Louis’ shoulder. Louis almost wants to cry.

"Trust that big sack of crap to ruin a good moment." Louis’ mumbling to himself before he can even stop it, shuffling off the bed.

"Hey," Harry says softly from behind him, a hand on Louis’ back, "we still have all night, remember?"

"Oh," Louis smiles, his mind going blank. "Yeah."

"Harry? Where the bloody hell is this kid?"

Louis rolls his eyes and groans. What is so important that Harry needs to do _right_ now? It couldn’t have waited, like, two minutes.

"Okay, I’m gonna go out there and tell him you’re outside." Louis explains to Harry once he’s off the bed, "and once he’s out there, that’s when you can go down and yell at him for disturbing us, yeah?"

Harry gives a low chuckle, then nods, “Yeah, Lou. Sounds good.”

-*-

He watches Louis exit the room, closing the door in a state of frustration that Harry can’t help but find adorable.

He sighs and collapses back onto the bed, limbs sprawled so he’s out like a starfish as he looks up towards the ceiling.

He was _this_ close to kissing him. One more second and those lips would’ve been on his. Louis’ right, though, once he’s known in the world he won’t have much time to himself anymore. He’ll have to make time to be with Louis.

There’s a drop in his stomach when he thinks about it. Not seeing Louis everyday means Louis will lose interest, for sure. Harry’s seen the attention span the boy has, and it’s like as soon as something leaves and something new comes into sight, he latches onto it straight away.

What if Harry’s schedule becomes too busy that he’ll only see Louis once a week? He’s moving back with his mother soon, which means that _is_ what’s going to happen.

And what if Mr Tomlinson finds another new client to work with? What if Louis likes him a lot better than Harry?

He lets out a groan and lets his arm fall on top of his eyes, trying to block out the image of Louis with someone else.

"Louis! Have you seen any sign of Harry?"

"He’s outside, dad."

Harry takes this as a cue to leave, and follows Louis’ orders so they don’t get caught.

♫

Apparently the party’s already started but Harry hasn’t taken any notice. It’s only when the backyard (a place where it _was_ only Harry and Louis, talking about Harry’s exams and Louis’ plans for the future) suddenly fills up with delicate looking people with their hair styled and their outfits dry-cleaned.

In amongst the glamorous looking crowd, Harry spots Mr Tomlinson there, searching the yard for nobody else but him, of course.

"Looks like you’re needed, Styles." Louis says, nudging his shoulder lightly. Harry looks to him and sees his fake smile and wants to hide behind him until the party ends.

"Ah! There he is!" Mr Tomlinson calls, pointing his finger straight to Harry.

The group around the host all turn to him as he walks towards them, all smiling generously and looking at him like he’s a new canvas to be painted. He stops when he’s a stride distance away, only to have Mr Tomlinson’s arm braced around Harry’s shoulder like they’ve been friends for years.

"I remember seeing this kid for the first time. And I thought, as soon as he stepped foot into this house, I thought; wow, does this boy have potential or what?" He exclaims brightly, the group around him agrees, nodding their heads. Mr Tomlinson’s breath smells like whiskey and Harry wonders when he started drinking. "I see a great future for you, Harry Styles! You should thank your father!"

He beams out a laugh and the rest join him, the sound becoming a light buzz in his ears as the faces around him all blend into a blur. He doesn’t focus on anyone else as he turns his head around. His eyes search, but Louis’ nowhere to be seen.

"You have _lovely_ hair, Harry." A women’s voice says, delicately. Harry turns his head back around, to see a middle-aged women with dimmed green eyes staring back at him. "And I haven’t had the chance to listen to you sing yet, but with a face like that I’m sure you have a gift."

"A gift?" Mr Tomlinson recites loudly, as though it were an insult. "Martha, dear, this boy has more than a gift. I’m tellin’ you, darling, Harry is a fucking treasure box!"

And, wow, he really wishes Louis were here.

♫

After being pulled and thrown into the spotlight of questions and affections from important people he’s never met and strangers that like to touch his hair and arms a lot, Harry is finally let go of Mr Tomlinson’s gaze.

He escapes the scene almost so quickly it sort of knocks him out of it a little bit. He hasn’t had the chance yet to slow down and realise what this party’s for. The people, the celebration, the excitement - it’s all for him.

And though it should be the upcoming album surrounding his mind, it’s not. Because as he enters the bare room with nothing but mumbled conversations and a bar, he sees Louis ordering another drink from the bartender as he sits on one of the stools.

Harry knows something’s up as soon as he hears Louis ordering and not making a drink for himself. Louis’ the type of person to shove the worker out of the way so he can make his drink the way he likes - but by the way he’s slouching over the bench with his hand held loosely around an empty glass, Harry’s not too sure he can even stand.

"Louis? Hey, you alright?"

He’s by his side in an instant, but it’s not until he puts a soft hand on Louis’ back when he realises Harry’s there.

"Harry," He says, almost dreamily with a small smile, "you’re here."

"Yeah, yeah. I am." He gives Louis a smile as Louis continues looking at him, and Harry slyly takes the glass the bartender was about to serve. "You okay?"

Louis nods, his head dropping a little. He frowns slightly, “I think I missed you, a bit. A lot.”

He gives out a laugh as the bartender scoffs. Harry glances to him and his expression looks like he’s heard enough from Louis he could slice his own ears off.

"Well, I’m here now, so you can stop drinking. Yeah?"

Louis’ eyes widen, “Oh, my god. I’m not drunk yet, am I?” He lets out a sigh, “This is embarrassing. Now you’re sober and I’m weird.”

Harry rubs his hand on Louis’ back soothingly, and opens his mouth to say something before getting cut off by Louis.

"So, now, _you_ have to drink!" He says, grinning. He points to the glass Harry still has in his hand, filled to the brim with clear liquid that could only be vodka. "C’mon!"

Harry frowns at the bartender, “How many of these has he had?”

The man who was occupying himself by cleaning a glass looks vaguely over his shoulder to see what Harry means, then turns around to face him.

"Vodka shots? He’s had two."

Harry raises a brow, “And what else has he had?”

The bartender looks around the room, his bottom lip pouting out over his top as he remembers. “Had a couple beers, some tequila, I think. Though, he had the tequila before he came to me.”

" _Louis_ ," Harry says, almost apologetic. Louis looks back at him sheepishly, biting his lip. "Why are you drinking so much?"

"You were gone for so long! And these people are boring." He pouts and takes Harry’s hand into his own, "What else was I meant to do?"

Harry lets out a short laugh and runs his thumb over the back of Louis’ palm. “Well, you could’ve dragged me away from all those people out there.”

Louis smiles and shrugs, “Yeah, I could’ve. But I also could’ve let you become so bored that you just _had_ to be with me.”

"That was your plan, huh?"

He shrugs again, moving closer in his seat so his knee touches Harry’s. “Is it wrong of me to assume that you would’ve come crawling anyway?”

Harry has to take a second to adjust his mind before he can speak again. His left hand is still on Louis’ back, drawing circles against his shirt aimlessly, while his right hand is occupied by Louis’, holding onto each other like it means something. And Louis is looking up at him from where he’s sitting and from where Harry’s standing, and Louis eyes are so blue in his light and they look into Harry’s like they’re twinkling, with his lips - oh, _god_ his lips - are so red from drinking it makes everything else in the room dim.

Harry’s completely transfixed on the only person that consumes his mind and the rest are blurry, unable to focus even if he tried. And he’s not even drunk yet.

"No." He says, answering Louis’ question with a smile, "That’s completely true, actually."

The smile that Louis returns is so captivating Harry questions himself for a moment whether or not he should pull up a chair, too, in case he falls over or something. But then he stabilises his mind and thinks that maybe not.

Because now Louis’ guiding one of his knees between Harry’s legs, nudging them open so one of Louis’ can squeeze through, making Harry’s leg sit in between the glory that is Louis’ thighs. And he’s so close to him now, closer than they were on the bed. Louis has his arm around Harry’s waist, tugging him in even closer so Harry’s thigh is almost resting on Louis’ crotch.

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat.

Louis’ eyes scream _wantwantwant_ , and his cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and —

Oh, he also has the nerve to bite his lip.

Harry moves the hand placed on his back up into Louis’ hair. He brings his face closer, only to see Louis break into a smile.

"You wanna kiss me, huh?" He asks, like it’s even a fucking question.

"Yeah, Lou."

"Have a drink first."

Harry pulls away, but not far. And his forehead pulls together tightly, “A drink?”

And Louis only nods. It’s amazing how much control this boy has on him, like Louis could tell Harry to go outside in the nude and run around if it meant Harry could give him a blowjob.

"This drink?" Harry picks up the shot of vodka. Louis nods again.

He’s never had straight vodka before, only had it with Zayn’s juice or coke. He never thought it was bad, then, but as he knocks it back he feels the sting almost straight away.

His face scrunches up as he pokes his tongue out, as though that’d get rid of the taste.

He hears Louis giggling and Harry opens his eyes to see it.

"You weak boy." He comments, shaking his head fondly. Then he grabs Harry’s t-shirt, a growl in his voice when he says, "Now c’mere."

-*-

The first thing he feels is the weight on his chest, like a metal bar is suffocating him and trapping him so he’s unable to move. The second thing he feels is the pain when he opens his eyes to the sudden sunlight that reaches his eyes. The third thing he feels is a headache so strong it could burn Louis’ brain as he sits up, probably less slowly than he should have.

The fourth thing he feels, though, is the most powerful one of all.

He realises the strain on his chest had moved when he sat up, only to find it drop down numbly to his lap. He follows the arm down to the shoulder, and looks to Harry, knocked out next to him in the same bed.

What comes next is a pile of thoughts and worries and feelings and questions that rack only through his mind, accompanied by the overwhelming lurch in his chest telling him to cuddle up to Harry while he can, as the other part of him is saying he should hide any evidence that Harry was even here, in his bed, lying next to him.

He finds his own chest bare, and scans the room. His breath holds when he spots the trail of clothes leading from the doorway to where he is now. He slowly lifts the covers off his body, and when he finds them both still wearing their boxes, he finally releases his breath.

Louis rests his head against the head board, trying to recollect any memory of what happened.

There’s a low groan next to him, the mattress shifting as the long body moves onto his back, eyes squinting from the sunlight as he drags his hands over his face.

"Morning, sunshine." Louis says, as calmly as he can. Though he’s pretty sure the shakiness in his voice is something he can’t hide at this point.

Harry’s head jerks up to where Louis’ sitting. His eyes widen slightly, then he’s frowning, and then he’s not and Louis’ _sure_ he could see a smile forming.

He lifts himself up, mimicking Louis’ position, rubbing his eyes a bit more before he says, “Shit, what happened last night?”

His voice is rough and hard and everything to do with the fact that Louis’ whole body stiffens for a second. He clears his throat, wondering whether he should deepen his voice, too.

"Uh, I really couldn’t tell you, to be honest."

And Louis watches on as Harry scans the room and finds the same trail of clothes as Louis did, then his eyes meet Harry’s.

"Did we—?"

His question is cut off from the pain-staking noise of footsteps from downstairs. It would be okay, if it weren’t for the sentence that came after it.

"I’ll ask Louis, maybe he knows where he is."

"Fuck, shit, fuck," Louis swears under his breath, ripping back the covers as he tries his hardest to pick up all the clothes from the floor and into his drawers.

 He looks back up to Harry, _still_ in the bed, and frowns, "What are you doing? Get in there!"

He points to the bathroom urgently, but Harry only shrugs. “He wants to find me, so let him find me.”

Louis huffs out a frustrated sigh and storms over to Harry. “Get into the fucking bathroom, Styles.”

"But it’s boring in there."

Louis groans, “For fuck’s sake. My dad is _not_ seeing you like this in my bed. I don’t give a shit if the bathroom is boring, have a shower or something. “

The footsteps become closer. Louis tugs on Harry’s arm. He finally co-operates and stumbles into the bathroom. And that door closes as soon as another one opens.

"You’re actually awake." His father says, standing at the doorway.

Louis spins around and tries to act casual, swiftly pulling on a pair of track suit pants; one that he missed picking up earlier.

"Surprise," He says.

There’s no pause when his father asks, “Do you know where Harry went last night?”

"I feel like this is a regular question." He remarks, but his father doesn’t smile. "No, I don’t."

The sounds of pressured water hitting tiles echoes around the room. Louis could bang his head against the wall.

"That’s him in there, isn’t it?" His father asks, frowning and stepping closer.

"It’s not! I swear it’s not." Louis defends, throwing his hands up like he’s surrendering.

"Who is it then, Louis?" The man asks, taking another step into the room. "I’m not fucking stupid, I know you have a thing for this boy and I don’t know why but he seems to have a thing for you too." He shakes his head and tilts it down, he’s looking at Louis but it’s hard to tell by the frown that’s covering his eyes. He points a stern finger at him and sucks in a breath, "I swear to _fucking_ god, Louis. If you’re messing around with another one of my goddamn clients—"

"Dad, _trust_ me. It’s just another boy, that’s all."

It should be frightening to Louis how well he can lie, but then again, it shouldn’t be frightening at all. Because as soon as he knew how to, he’s used it to get out of all sorts of trouble.

"If I even _hear_ you trying to sneak him out, I will put you out on your fucking ass, you understand me?!"

The shower tap stops running. Which makes the room turn silent, yet Louis’ heart beats louder in his ears than any sound he’s ever heard.

"I don’t know where Harry is."

Louis’ father stares into him for a while longer, and Louis’ sure his own hands are shaking but right now he’s uncertain. Then his father peers around the room sceptically once more, and leaves.

Louis lets out a deep sigh. He swallows down his fear and finds himself clenching his fists as he heads towards the bathroom door.

"Harry?" He whispers, his cheek pressed against it.

"Yeah," He whispers back.

"Don’t come out yet. I gotta - I gotta figure out what to do."

He can’t open the door and let him out; Louis’ father will hear the extra pair of feet and will come up straight away. They can’t just stay in the bathroom together all day, either.

The bedroom door opens and Louis holds his breath.

"Hi, boy."

He releases it when he realises it’s Marie.

"Hey," He says, and he keeps whispering but he doesn’t know why, "Shut the door, will you, love?"

Marie nods and closes it behind her. She reads Louis’ expression and walks forward. “What wrong? Everything fine?”

Louis pauses, wonders if he should tell her. She’s worked for his father for fifteen years now, though, Louis’ pretty sure she hates his guts.

"Uh, yeah, not really. We’re in a bit of trouble."

She scrunches up her nose, “We?”

"Yeah…" Louis opens up the bathroom door, slowly revealing Harry on the other side.

He greets Marie with a smile and a wave. Marie just looks at him with a puzzled expression.

"We - uh, he’s not supposed to be here." Louis admits, and he sees her clicking on. "Do you have any idea how I can get him out without my dad seeing?"

No time passes before Marie’s giving him a curt nod, then gestures for both of them to follow.

They each cross the room, Harry trying his best to walk delicately over the carpet. Marie leads them to the side of the room, a space that Louis’ never used before. It’s bare and small so he’s never seen the tiny wooden door at the corner.

"There," She points, "leads you outside. Take exit. Out in no time."

Louis feels so relieved he could hug her, so he does. “Thank you!”

"Who would’ve known you’d have a secret passage way in your room, huh?" Harry says, opening the door to darkness. The only light coming from the other door that must be the way outside.

"Don’t get lost." Louis says, peering down it, "Or stuck."

Harry laughs softly, pulling Louis into a warm hug, “I won’t.”

He kisses Louis’ head and they pull back. “Dad’s searching for you so just come back into the house when you’re out, would you?”

Harry mouth spreads into a grin, “Of course. Anything to be near you.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “You’re such a sop. Oh,” He adds, like he’s forgotten something. Then he slaps Harry across the cheek, earning a gasp from Marie. “That was for turning the shower on, you goose.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry pouts, “That’s unfair, you told me—“

Then Louis pulls him in for a kiss, his hand cupping the back of Harry’s head. Harry lets out a surprised noise, but then kisses him back instantly, his hand reaching for Louis’ jaw, covering it easily.

Harry’s smile when they pull back is something you’d see on a Colgate ad, and his eyes look like they’ve added some sort of spark. His hands don’t leave Louis’ jaw when he says, “And what was that for?”

Louis shrugs, unable to hide his own smile forming. “Because I wanted to.”

If it weren’t for footsteps coming up the stairs, Louis wouldn’t have pulled back that quickly. But now he’s ushering Harry towards the door, squeezing him through and shutting the wooden door closed before the larger one opens.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update! My phone that had all my plans for this fic has unfortunately been lost :( I had to remember everything I had and re-write it, sorry! xx

Louis feels like he’s seen the same surroundings as he drives around the same route a thousand times before he notices. Truth is, he’s been on the road for hours - purely thinking about himself, his mother, Harry - and it’s all a bit odd because for the first time in a long time, he’s completely bored out of his brains. 

Harry hasn’t been around a lot lately, Louis’ seen him once this week, though. And Louis knows he can’t afford to be greedy, he _knew_ this is what it was going to be like once Harry’s record was out, he _knew_ he’d no longer be by Louis’ side every second of the day. 

It’s fair to say he misses him, but he has to prepare himself for when Harry no longer remembers Louis exists. 

And like an actor on call, the radio fills the car with a sound so recognizable yet new to Louis’ ears it causes him to park on the side of the road, closing his eyes and resting his head back as the tune of Harry’s song surrounds his mind. 

It’s beautiful, really. It brings back the memories of his first glance at the misty eyed boy with gangly legs and curly hair, and how Louis’ first interpretation of him was now utterly wrong. He remembers their first conversation at the coffee shop, and how he spotted Harry with a coffee at his table - when back at the interview, he hadn’t touched his - and looking back now, Louis understands it was possibly the pure nerves that made Harry unable to drink at all. He remembers when he first heard the sound of Harry’s voice, how it chilled through him like an iceberg, something so raw it made Louis leave. 

And then the song finishes and the memories stop - but he doesn’t tune out. 

Because now the radio presenter is announcing something that makes Louis’ heartbeat double, a wave of excitement rushes through him as the words “number one” repeat over and over in his head. 

♫

As he pulls up to the familiar lot, it disrupts the sense of easiness he thought he had. Admittedly, he tricked himself thinking this visit was simple - that congratulating the boy that he’s become particularly fond of would be easy. But the queasiness erupting in his stomach and the nerves floating through his system come as a surprise. 

It may be the fact that he and Harry have been separate for a long time now, with phone calls fading out from once a day to once a week, and text messages that last for a few minutes then stop. And it’s strange, walking up to the front door, spotting the empty drive-way, wondering if Harry is even home or not. 

But this is reality, isn’t it? 

And as the door is opened and Harry’s enthusiastic arms are wrapped around Louis - he wishes reality would hold off for another few days, just until Louis was ready to let go. 

"Louis!" He calls, burying his face into Louis’ neck. 

"Harry," Louis says softly, hugging him back that little more tightly, breathing everything in as though it were the last time. 

"Missed you loads!" He says, pulling back so they face each other, "Where’ve you been, Lou?" 

Louis blinks. 

That’s completely crazy, that Harry would even think of asking that. 

But his eyes are shining and his smile is wide and Louis can’t simply bring himself to start an argument at how stupidly ironic that question is. 

"Oh, just, you know," He replies lamely, pointing at his car and then around, "doing… things. But, hey, I heard your songs doing well!" 

Harry’s eyebrows rise in joy and Louis’ glad he dodged that answer. “Yeah! Number one! How great is that?” 

Louis feels a knife stab into his chest and for some reason that makes his lips force into a smile. “It is. I’m really proud of you.” 

They share a glance and it’s painful. The pure happiness in Harry’s eyes should make Louis smile voluntarily, should make them hug and kiss and celebrate like good friends are supposed to do. Yet, Louis breaks their contact and darts his eyes towards the floor, not liking the obvious tension and unanswered questions floating around in the air between them. 

Luckily, Harry pipes up. “Did you wanna come inside?” 

"Oh, uh, is that alright? If I do?" 

Harry gives Louis a sceptical look as if to ask if he’s insane. 

"Yeah, of course. You know I’ve always got room for you here." 

Louis flashes a smile and steps inside, desperately trying to ignore the mutters of ” _Yeah, but do you have the time?”_ floating around in his head. 

"So, d’you want a tea or anything? Dad won’t be back for a while but I think he wants me when he does so we have—"

"Harry," Louis says, stopping Harry’s ramble. "I don’t wanna be - you know, like, stopping you from doing what you have to do—"

"What?" 

Louis regrets looking into Harry’s eyes at that moment. So filled with confusion and innocence and softness that makes Louis want to curl up and possibly knee himself in the face if he felt like it. 

"I just, like, with your career and stuff taking off, I don’t, like…" He trails off, scratching the back of his neck uncertainly. He’s always been terrible with words when it means something. 

Harry steps forward, slowly shaking his head, “Louis, if you think you’re getting in the way then you’re not.” He softly takes Louis’ hand which fills him up instantly with warmth, “I know I’m not there all the time anymore but you’re never in the way, okay? Don’t ever think that.” 

Louis nods because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. But he wants to believe it; he wants to believe it _so_ bad. So in that second, he does. 

"By the way, I," Harry smiles, a hand running through his hair somewhat nervously, "I want you to listen to the next single I’m putting out." 

"Really?" Louis asks, running his thumb over the back of Harry’s palm, "Be careful, if it’s good I might run out again." 

"Oh, I hope you don’t." Harry says, "This one’s, uh, this one’s special." 

"Special?" Louis questions, his eyebrows rising. 

"Yeah," Harry grins, like he’s unable to hide it, "it’s about you." 

If Louis’ heart was thumping before then it’s either stopped or going even faster because either way it’s the only thing Louis can feel at that moment. 

He eventually catches his breath, voicing out a little, “Oh.” 

"It’s nothing, like, corny, or whatever." Harry reassures, his eyes widening in fear that he’s freaked his best friend out, "It’s just a little something I wrote, you know? It was actually quite easy, really. I just sort of had to think of you and the words just—"

"I wanna hear it." Louis says, unknowingly smiling as he stops Harry from talking so fast, afraid he might explode. 

Harry leads Louis into his bedroom, to the desk with an already started up laptop. He clicks onto his music player and Louis can already feel the goose bumps tickling his skin. 

Harry wrote a song about _him_. 

"I hope you don’t like, think it’s weird. This is only the demo version; we’re recording in the studio tomorrow, actually. And I don’t think your dad knows it’s about you, yet, you know, if you were worrying—" 

"Press play, you goofball." Louis prompts playfully, guiltily loving how nervous Harry’s gotten. 

He nods twice, “Yeah, shit. Okay.” And clicks play on a song titled ‘ _You_ ’. 

The introduction to it is soothing, nothing soppy like Harry promised; it’s a nice sound of a guitar strumming peacefully until the hard beat of the drums kick in, and so does Harry’s voice. 

_I swear I’ve seen those eyes before; I’ve met them in my dreams_

Louis doesn’t know whether to freeze up or relax as the sound fills his ears until he can’t hear anything else. 

_You smile like it’s nothing yet I’m bursting at the seams_

_Your laugh sounds like an angel; I swear it makes you glow_

_And you’re the brightest angel that I’ve ever seen before_

He glances at Harry and almost explodes when he sees him already staring back. 

 _Oh, I adore, I adore you. Babe, I can’t hide it. I adore you_.

"Harry—"

"Oh, fuck." 

Louis frowns, watching as Harry quickly goes to stop the song as fast as possible. He glances out his window, and Louis notices what he saw. A car pulled up with Harry’s father, and Louis’. 

"Harry, he can’t see me here, not now." Louis panics, already looking around the room urgently for a hiding spot. 

"Shit, yeah, I know. Uh," He holds a finger to his bottom lip as he thinks, then his eyes lock on something and he says, "There. My wardrobe." 

They hear the front door open and they almost run towards the wardrobe - Louis doesn’t know why Harry’s joining him but if it means they’re together then how could he care? 

They squeeze into the wardrobe, which is surprisingly bigger than what Louis thought. Harry closes the doors and hears the two father’s converse in the living room. 

"Hey, check it out;" Harry says softly, "we’re both in the closet." 

And Louis hits him before stifling a laugh, “Shut up.”

~*~

The only light they can see is through the cracks of the wardrobe door, shining through and illuminating the slightest bits of the closet. Harry wants Louis to stay right where he is, because the light has casted over his delicate eyes and the left side of his face, so close to Harry it’s almost overwhelming. 

"I really liked the song," He says, his voice the softest Harry’s ever heard it. 

He hopes the light doesn’t catch Harry’s blush, but he feels it on his neck and his cheeks because Louis complimented him and he still hasn’t gotten used to how great that feels. 

"I was hoping you would." Harry replies with a smile, trying not to grin. 

"Did you, uh." Louis cuts himself off, his forehead creasing slightly as he darts his eyes away. He still doesn’t look at Harry when he talks next but something about the way he says it makes it sound like he wants to. "Did you really write that song about me?" 

"Yeah." Harry doesn’t hesitate; he wants Louis to know what he means to him. "I said I did, didn’t I?" 

"You did. But I just… I didn’t think—"

"You’re amazing, Lou. I couldn’t _no_ t write a song about you." 

Truth is, there are five songs in his book that are solely about the boy next to him. But to avert the risk of Louis breaking through the window to escape - Harry keeps that little fact to himself. 

"I gotta, uh, I gotta talk to you about something." 

His voice is serious, but hesitant at the same time. Like he’s been keeping something from Harry for a long time yet doesn’t want to say it. 

"Okay," Harry says, brushing his fingers against Louis’ arm. 

"Well, you know how, like, I’m not… particularly fond of my dad and what he does for a living?" 

Harry nods, his fingers brushing slightly, coaxing the words out of Louis. 

"It’s not like I’m not _happy_ for you to be perusing this path or anything, I’m just not, like, _thrilled_ … you know? And I have a reason, I’m not just being a pessimistic twat, I just - I’m sort of scared." 

"Lou—"

"It’s ridiculous, I know. You’re probably thinking ‘oh, grow up, you’re making this into a big deal’ but you don’t _understand_." Louis’ hands are moving with every word that he says, his eyebrows are mixed between worry and frustration and Harry knows he’s starting to ramble but he can’t bring himself to stop him. "You think you’re getting the ride of your life by signing up to this label, creating singles, topping the charts - but I’m scared for you. My dad literally takes talent then watches his clients fall into pits of depression and addiction as their career falls into a downward spiral and what once used to be a nice, guided person turns into a faded alcoholic and a loose cannon who’s left with nothing but money and I don’t want that to be you."

Louis takes a breath and Harry wants to cradle him and kiss his head countless of times. So he does. 

Louis’ head falls into Harry’s embrace as Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ hair, holding him tight. 

"Louis, I know you’re afraid that I’ll be changed and I’ll be so obsessed with money and fame," Harry says. Louis nods. "But I can assure you, with everything I have, that I won’t turn into that guy." 

Louis pulls back, looking him in the eyes. “How can you be sure?” 

Harry dips his head down and kisses the tip of Louis’ nose. 

"Because I’ve got you." 

Louis lets out a shaky breath, his eyes glancing between Harry’s. They fall down to his lips then back up again and Harry takes that as a signal. 

He brings his hand up to hold the back of Louis’ head and brings their lips together, delicately as always. Although, like a wave of anticipation, Louis doesn’t move delicately at all. 

He leans Harry against the wall of the wardrobe, pressing up against him as his hands hold onto Harry’s hips. He pulls Harry’s hips so they touch his, their legs slotted together as Louis moves his crotch against Harry’s thigh. 

Even in the darkest possible places of his room he still thinks Louis looks hot as fuck, his breaths coming out as little pants and his lips red from kissing, his hair messed from having Harry’s fingers through it. He looks into Louis’ eyes and Harry swears that made him harder - his eyes blown and full of _want_ and _need_ , with a sense of desperation and impatience. 

"You hear that?" Louis asks, making sure they both stay still.

And sure enough, they hear the front door closing, followed by sounds of the car doors opening and a car driving away. 

"Finally." Louis grins, pushing open the wardrobe doors and pulling Harry out with him by the front of his shirt. "Get this off." 

Harry follows his orders and takes his shirt off quickly, returning back to Louis who looks so perfect on his bed. He presses a kiss to his lips, to his jaw, to his collarbones. Louis fists through Harry’s hair, his hips moving up to grind against Harry’s. 

"Lou," Harry says, his elbows on either side of Louis’ chest, "Louis."

"Wanted you for so long."

Harry could collapse right there, hearing those words. He’s wanted Louis too, admittedly since the first time he saw him. 

"Can I make you feel good?"

"Fuck, Harry," Louis says, laid out underneath him, so small and _ready_ , "Do you even need to ask?"

Harry kisses him with a smile, slow and intimate like it’s the first time. He sits up over him, slowly running his hands over Louis’ chest - his fingers lightly brushing over Louis’ nipples, making his hips jerk. Harry smirks, deciding to remember that sensitivity for next time. 

He moves backwards on the bed, so he’s sat between Louis’ thighs, where his shirt’s ridden up, displaying his lower stomach. A light trail of hair leads down to where his cock is currently being pushed to extremes in his tight, black jeans. 

"Shit, Lou," Harry says, almost to himself. 

Louis arches his back, his hand reaching to palm himself on top of his jeans, “C’mon, Harry.” 

"Fuck," He taps Louis’ hand away and begins unbuttoning Louis’ jeans straight away. He pulls them down over his thighs, his boxers going with it. 

He looks up to see Louis, his head back on the pillow with his body aching to be touched. Harry grips onto Louis’ glorious thighs and watches as he takes in a sharp intake of breath. 

Then he holds the base of his cock and moves his mouth over it. The sound that comes next is like ecstasy, high and broken as Louis tries to moan Harry’s name. 

Harry groans onto Louis, then proceeds to lick a strip on the underside of Louis’ cock, making Louis let out a louder sound - and it’s a good thing they didn’t do this with their fathers home, Harry wouldn’t want to muffle Louis’ broken sounds at all. 

"Har- Harry," His hand comes to Harry’s hair, his hips jolting forward as Harry tries to keep up, "Gonna— I’m gonna…"

Harry palms the front of his own jeans, sucking Louis off until he comes, swallowing his orgasm as Louis lets out a loud, satisfied sigh. 

Harry quickly pulls his load out and jacks himself off, coming as he screams Louis’ name. 

He joins Louis, lying down next to him with his heart still pounding. Louis turns, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

"Your mouth was made for that." He says, his eyes still gorgeous and his body still wrecked. 

Harry takes one look at him and suddenly his blood’s racing to his dick again. “Wanna see what else it can do?” 

He’s up on one elbow, looking down over Louis. And Louis grins, his hand reaching over to tap Harry’s ass. 

"Slow down, Curly." He says, and then to Harry’s disappointment, he rolls over and sits up off the bed. 

Harry pouts and frowns, “Where are you going?” 

Louis looks back and his whole face relaxes, looking as though Harry’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Oh,” He says, kneeling over to cup Harry’s face and presses a kiss to his lips, “I wish I could stay—”

"Then _stay_ ," Harry pleads, bringing Louis closer to him. 

"But—"

"If it’s your dad you’re worried about then at least let me drive you back home." Harry says, letting Louis curl up beside him. "Just lay with me for a little while longer." 

Louis looks like he’s thinking about it and there’s a flickers of worry and doubt in his eyes. But once he looks back to Harry they all disappear, replaced with a smile. 

"Okay." 

 


	8. Chapter 8

An entire week of making excessive time for each other, hiding behind walls to kiss and Louis secretly sending dirty texts to Harry to watch him squirm uncomfortably in front of his father.. It’s only when Louis’ back home with his mother as he receives a call from Harry, when time slows down for a while. 

"So, you mean…" Louis trails off, still half in shock. 

"Yes! And I’m taking you, Lou. I don’t care what your dad says." 

"Harry—"

"You’re coming to the awards show with me. There’s no ‘if’s’ or ‘but’s’ about it." Harry finalizes, his tone far too excited to be remotely serious. 

Louis finds himself smiling, despite the mountain of nerves piling up the more he thinks about being in the public eye with flashing lights everywhere he looks. 

"I’d hate to sound like a teenage girl but, what the fuck do I wear?" 

~*~

Harry wants to kiss whoever dressed Louis. He also wants to kiss Louis. No, scratch that, he wants to rip off his clothes but at the same time he wants to fuck Louis fully dressed. 

It’s a complicated thought process but basically Harry’s drooling over Louis’ tight fitted pants that compliment every curve he has. 

"You alright?" Louis asks him, trying terribly hard not to smile smugly.

When he turns back around he doesn’t have time to do anything, because Harry’s got a hold of his waist, forcing him up against the nearest wall. 

"Shit, Harry—"

"God, Lou. _Please_ let me blow you in these jeans." 

Harry watches as Louis’ pupils expand, giving Harry a tight kiss before nodding. 

The eagerness in Harry is a little too overpowering but he doesn’t care. If he were honest, he hadn’t wanted anything more than to feel Louis in his mouth since the first time he’d done it, like a drug he can’t get enough of. 

Louis calls him a cock slut but, again, he doesn’t care. 

Harry takes the time to admire the way the white denim clings to Louis’ hips and thighs like they depend on it, also the way it accentuates Louis’ erection. The button practically pops open as Harry undoes it, and the waistband falls downwards with the zipper, letting Louis’ cock spring upwards, tenting in his boxers. 

"How did you even fit in these?" 

Louis almost lets out a laugh, but it’s breathy and short it sounds more like a sigh. “A lot of squeezing. Couldn’t fit over my large bum.” 

"I love your bum." Harry says, earning a smile and a hand through his hair. 

Harry puts his lips over the head and the initial feeling of it makes Louis’ thighs twitch underneath Harry’s hold, clamping his hand tighter, wanting to feel as much of him as he can. 

And he does, until there’s a surprising knock on the door. 

"Fuck!" Louis whispers harshly, pushing at Harry’s shoulders enough to make him stop. 

Harry makes himself collapse onto the floor and watches as Louis tries his hardest to do up his jeans, pushing down his erection as the door opens. 

There’s a collective wave of relief when they realize it’s only Niall. 

"Ey, guys! Are you—" He stops himself, assessing the situation he’s accidentally found himself in. "We’re, uh, we’re ready to go." 

He averts his eyes as Louis says in the most measured tone he can muster, “Okay, we’ll be out soon.” 

Niall nods once and moves the fastest Harry’s ever seen him move, exiting out of the room as though there were a life-threatening storm.  

"So, we’re going?" Harry asks, starting to pick himself up off the floor. 

"Yeah. Soon. Not now." Louis says, and then points to the space in front of him. "You. Come here." 

Harry obeys and returns to his position, sucking Louis until he’s muffling Harry’s name into the back of his hand and coming down Harry’s throat without warning. 

"How you do that with your lips I will never know." Louis says, almost panting against the wall as he regains himself and attempts to clean up. 

Harry, still hot and waiting in his pants, starts to ache. He stands up and kisses Louis down the neck to his collarbone, then back up to his ear. 

"My turn?" 

Louis makes a soft sound, as though he were thinking about it. “Uh,” He says, questionably, and then touches the front of his pants which makes Harry suck in a breath between his teeth. 

Then Louis drops his hand, “Nah.” 

It’s not until Louis’ halfway across the room when Harry lets out a painful whine. 

"But Louis…" 

"We’re going now, remember?" He replies with a smile that can only mean that he’s proud of what he’s doing. That devilish monster. "C’mon, then." 

"You can’t leave me like this," Harry complains, walking to catch up with Louis anyway, "you’re a torturer, you know that?" 

"Look at it this way," Louis says, pausing at the door with his hand on the handle, "it’s gonna be worth it when I finally go down there, isn’t it? The longer you hold off the better it’ll be." 

He turns the handle, and walks out of the room. He purposely brushes his ass against Harry, and Harry couldn’t hate him more than he did right now. 

♫

The drive to the awards is painful. Louis sits next to him in the limo, he and Harry’s father in the section at front. There’s a black screen separating them, and Louis’ hand is rested on Harry’s thigh, as though that doesn’t make Harry sweat with impatience. 

"C’mon, Lou." He whispers harshly in his ear. "Just do it now."

"In the _car_?" Louis asks, his eyebrows squeezing together. He’s trying to be serious but obviously he’s not trying very hard by the way his lips tilt up at the sides. "Harry, love, I’m afraid I’m much classier than that." 

"Don’t care," Harry growls, kissing Louis on the mouth as his hands grab a hold onto him. 

Louis kisses him back, but only for a few seconds until he’s holding Harrys shoulders away from him, his smile all the more evident. 

"I can’t even imagine what you’ll be like in there, waiting patiently until it all ends, sitting next to me on the table with other artists—"

"You’re gonna make me wait _three_ hours?" Harry’s eyes almost pop as he whines, leaning his head back onto the car seat. 

"Oh, harden up, Harry. It’s not the complete end of the world." 

"If I harden up anymore I think my pants will break." 

This seems to humour Louis. He breaks out into a laugh so quick and loud, before clamping his hand around his mouth, giggling into it until he’s shaking his head and taking a breath. 

Suddenly the black screen separating them from their fathers comes down. Mr Tomlinson glares at Louis, like laughing is a sin. 

"Something funny?" He asks, glancing over at Harry slyly before returning back to his son. 

"Uh, Niall," Louis quickly stammers, clearing his throat, "got a text from him. Bit inappropriate to read out, though."  He laughs lamely, pointing to his phone, "You know what he’s like."

"Right." Mr Tomlinson quirks an eyebrow but lets the whole thing slide. He shifts back around in his seat as the black screen rolls up again. 

Louis waits until it’s completely up before he whacks Harry against his thigh. 

"Ow! What was that for?" Harry flinches with a frown. It hurts, but considering his position he can’t help but enjoy the feeling a little bit. "Do it again." 

"Jesus Christ," Louis stares at him like he’s a maniac, "that was for making me laugh. And this," Louis says, touching his palm delicately to the front of Harry’s jeans, making him suck in a deep breath, "Is for being a freak." 

"You," Harry says, batting Louis’ hand away, "are evil." 

♫

The awards show is even more painful than the car ride. Harry tries to fill his brain with repulsive images and disgusting scenarios so he can cope - but that doesn’t work when Louis is _right there,_ smiling his best smile and pinching Harry’s bum whenever he gets the chance. 

He looks so good and Harry can’t even have him yet. 

And during the acceptance speeches and the glamorous gowns and the round of applauses that have Harry’s hands aching by the end - there’s a break in the ceremony and Harry almost leaps out of his chair. 

He’s had Louis sitting by his side the entire time, looking like a fucking God without even trying. To be honest, Harry doesn’t know who won what, and quite frankly he couldn’t find it in him to care. 

So when the crowds disperse like a tide moving in different directions, Harry takes the opportunity and steals Louis away, tugging at his arm ignoring any protests and whisking him out in the open. 

"Harry!" He calls once they’ve finally stopped someplace where nobody is, near the back bathrooms. 

"Yes?" Harry looks at Louis, almost out of breath with eyes wide and thrilled.

"Are you out of your mind?" He asks, but there’s a smile in his voice. "We’re in public!" 

"C’mon." Harry takes Louis’ hand, walking into the deserted bathrooms impatiently. 

Louis looks at him with disbelief. “If I’m not doing it in a car what makes you think I’d do it in a restroom?” 

Harry could groan in frustration, quit now and touch himself instead. But there’s something about the wait that’s appealing to him, something about the way Louis’ not giving in until it’s suitable for _him_. 

And like a light bulb had just turned on above his head, Harry sparks an idea. 

"What do you want in return?" 

Louis looks taken aback, “What?” 

"Anything. I’ll give you- I’ll do anything." Harry’s aware at how desperate he sounds at this moment but with the secluded environment, complete with the darkness of the limited light and the need to pull Louis in closer increases the more he stand there justifies it. 

"Fuck, you really _are_ wanting this, aren’t you?" Louis says, his head tilted to one side as he steps closer to Harry. 

He’s near enough to grab so Harry does, his hands digging into Louis’ hips. “You have no idea.” 

"Well, then," He says, licking his lips. He taps the counter behind Harry. "Hop up. I can’t afford to kneel unless I want to dirty these pants." 

Harry knows it’s pathetic to get this excited but his dick truly _aches_ , it’s impossible not to. He takes Louis’ face into his hands and presses his lips to his own - kissing him tenderly until Louis’ rubbing against Harry’s bulge and he can’t wait any more. 

He gets up onto the counter and watches as Louis does his thing, unzipping Harry’s pants and dipping his head down to meet Harry’s head. 

He comes shortly after, stunning Louis. Good things really do come to those who wait. 

-*-

After the awards show, as celebrities around him are noticeably drunk, slurring and stumbling everywhere they go, Louis’ left to stand awkwardly in a crowd as Harry politely introduces himself and talks to the people he has to get familiar with. 

He’s attempting to down a full beer when he feels a strong tap on his shoulder. Louis turns around and his eyes meet his father’s. 

His glance is fierce, like he’s about to scold Louis for doing something wrong. Of _course_ he is, why else would he want to talk to his own son? 

"Christ, dad. For once can we have a normal conversation?" Louis says, feeling a little light-headed. He regrets it as soon as he says it, watching as his father’s eyes glare even more, the creases between his eyebrows becoming all the more prominent. 

"Don’t be smart with me, mister. I have the right to be mad at you." He clarifies, trying to keep his tone down so he doesn’t cause a scene. 

"Yeah? What’s that?" 

His father tilts his head closer so he can lower his voice even more. Louis edges away. 

"People are saying that you and Styles are a couple." 

Regardless of the amount of beers in Louis’ system, he feels as sober as ever once he hears those words. Did someone see them in the bathroom?

"What?" Louis questions, acting the best he can to play dumb. "Why would anyone think that?" 

"I don’t know." His father says through gritted teeth. "But for the sake of his career and the sake of his reputation, I think it’s best that you distance yourself from him for a while." 

Louis blinks. The sake of his _career_? His _reputation_? 

"Wait, what are you saying? I thought the only reason why you didn’t want Harry and I to be anything was because of what happened last time, not because of any _reputations_."

He spits out the last word like it’s acid on his tongue. His father swallows and Louis can see how his jaw tightens, like he’s said something he shouldn’t have. 

"No, you’re right." He says, clasping his hands together. "Who he’s with shouldn’t have anything to do with his music career." 

"Then why is it a problem?" 

Louis’ father opens his mouth to say something. He closes his mouth again and raises his finger, suggesting that he’s thinking about it. 

"Why is it a problem that people should think Harry and I are dating, dad?" Louis presses, his arms crossed with an eyebrow raised. 

"Because he’s not gay, is he?" 

The words come out like a fact. And although Louis knows the truth, it still slices through him like a knife, as though he were a child finding out that Santa isn’t real. 

Louis clears his throat, straitening his back. “And if he were?” 

"Well," His father tilts his chin upwards a little, avoiding Louis’ gaze. "He’s not. So if you’d stop with the pestering and try your best to keep your hands off each other for the remaining of the night, that would be great."

Louis doesn’t get a chance to slip in another word before his father’s already turning on his heel, walking off and disappearing into the crowd of celebrities. 

♫

He’s infuriated by the time they’re back in the car. His father’s words repeat in his head. How he can think that Harry’s sexuality could ruin everything is beyond Louis, and it makes him sick to the stomach. His own _father_ who he’s known his entire life, never flinched an eyelid when Louis came out. But, oh, God forbid his own client be gay. 

Louis’ fingers dig into the car seat. He’s unaware that his breathing’s stopped until a delicate hand is rested on top of his own. He glances up and meets Harry’s cautious eyes - somewhat glazed by the alcohol but cautious and caring all the same. 

"Hey, you alright?" He asks, lacing their fingers together. 

"Yeah," He nods, and catches his father’s eyes in the review mirror briefly before turning away. "Just sad that I have to go home tomorrow, is all." 

"Aw," Harry coos, scooting his body over so he can rest his head onto Louis’ shoulder, "I’m sad about that, too." 

Louis’ eyes flicker back to the mirror, meeting the glare staring back at him. It’s almost disgust in his father’s eyes, and it doesn’t take long until the black screen is rolling up, separating him from them. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter is so short! It was just a little filler but I promise the next chapters will be longer :) Thanks for reading! xx


	9. Chapter 9

Louis stands at the front balcony, his hands intertwined with Harry’s as they say goodbye. It shouldn’t be this emotional, or long, but knowing that it’s the first time they’ll truly be apart since becoming something more than friends does something to Louis’ insides which makes him want to hold Harry that little bit tighter. 

Harry hasn’t asked why Louis’ suddenly been contrastingly distant from him since the awards, and Louis’ grateful for that. Because for some unknown reason, Louis doesn’t want Harry thinking that his boss, Louis’ father, disapproves his sexuality. And as much as Louis despises his father and as much as he has distaste for the music industry - he doesn’t want Harry to have to quit what he loves doing. 

"I have some promotion to do in the next few weeks but I think I have some time off in the middle of it. Want me to come down and see you?" Harry asks, almost having to tilt his head down to look at Louis straight on. 

Christ, Louis thinks, when did he get so tall?

"Mm," He nods with a smile, "Yes, please." 

Harry brings a hand to Louis’ cheek and kisses him sweetly, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling back with a concerned frown. 

"Hang on," He says, looking out at the empty drive-way, "How’re getting home?" 

"Bus?" Louis replies, rising his eyebrows as a question of how else would he be getting there? 

Harry’s eyes widen, “You gotta be joking.” He takes out his phone and dials a number, bringing it to his ear and mumbling something before hanging up and turning to Louis with a smile. “The limo’s coming shortly.” 

Louis smiles back but it’s disguised behind dull pain - refusing to acknowledge that his boyfriend’s a replica of the celebrities who’ve fallen in front of his eyes. But he immediately pushes back the thought, knowing that just because he’s ordered a damn _limousine_ , doesn’t mean he’s about to fall into a pit of insanity and despair. 

He looks at him again; all shiny green eyes and welcoming smile, and hugs him without explanation. 

♫

The ride to his mother’s house feels especially strange in a fancy vehicle. Louis had tried to start a conversation with the driver but he couldn’t have been blunter, like an unsharpened pencil, useless of any words. 

So he plugs in his headphones and listens to the sound of Harry’s voice drift into his ears like an unknown lullaby he could fall asleep to. 

♫

When he wakes, he finds himself turning down the desired street, parking out the front of his mother’s house. She comes out in a daze, wondering why on Earth there is a limousine parked at the front of her house. 

When Louis steps out, she crosses over to him straight away, a surprised look complete with an excited grin forms on her face. 

"Louis! What’s this?" She beams, hugging him and pointing towards the ride. 

"Oh, uh, well, Harry didn’t want me taking the bus, so he insisted I take this instead." 

She lets out a breath of awe, clasping her hands together. “That boy’s lovely, then, isn’t he?” 

"Yeah," Louis smiles, unable to hide the fondness he _knows_ is appearing on his face and in his voice. "He is." 

The gasp that comes next is a shock to Louis, and then his mother’s hand is grabbing Louis’ arm and she’s so excited it’s unbelievable. “You have to tell me all about him.” 

-*-

"Harry? Are you awake mate?" 

Harry blinks, frowning. He hears his father’s voice and opens his eyes, being faced with the back side of the couch. He rolls over and tries his best to open his droopy eyes. 

"Harry, sorry. You’ve only been napping for five minutes but I wouldn’t wake you if it wasn’t important." 

Harry pulls himself up, sitting up right as he drags a hand over his sleepy face, “Hm? Nah, s’okay, dad. What’s up?” 

"Mr Tomlinson, he wants to discuss something with you."

With senses regained and alert, it strikes Harry as unusual with having his father talk so seriously with him. 

"Is it bad?"

He shrugs, “I don’t know, really. I’m sure it’s not, I think he just wants a chat.” 

"Mph, okay." Harry croaks, his throat tired from sleeping. "Tell him I’ll have a shower and be there soon, yeah?" 

He gets up from the couch slowly then arches his back onto his hands, cracking his spine. He rubs at his eyes again and wonders when he was suddenly so tired during the day.

"Uh, Harry?" His father asks from behind him. Harry turns around, finding him almost worried. "Just know that… I’m really proud of you, yeah? And I know your mum would be, too." 

Harry smiles instantly. Despite the praise, he knows his father’s trying to tell him that he’ll always be there even when the media’s not. He’s never been the soppy type, so Harry appreciates it even more. 

"Thanks, dad." 

"Yeah, well," He shrugs, and then changes his tone entirely, "Now get ready or else Tomlinson won’t be too happy." 

Harry nods, saluting him, “Yes, sir.” 

♫

He arrives at Mr Tomlinson’s house at fifteen past four, guiltily not wanting to be there at all. 

When he opens the door, Mr Tomlinson’s sitting at the couch he was sitting at when he first interviewed Harry, yet this time, he’s accompanied by a nice-looking girl next to him. 

Mr Tomlinson’s eyes brighten when he sees Harry at the front of the room, and Harry feels relief knowing that it can’t be anything terrible if he’s pleased to see him. 

"Ah, Harry! Glad you’re here." He beams, then looks at the young female that he has his arm around, "This is Paris." 

She’s blonde and tiny with huge eyes and a lovely smile. Harry smiles at her and shakes her hand. It’s not until she talks when Harry recognizes her. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry." 

"You, too. Congratulations on the award of your new single." 

Her eyes twinkle, her cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Thank you.” 

Harry takes a seat on the couch opposite them, wondering if they’re all here to discuss collaboration on a song or album. When his eyes switch back to Mr Tomlinson, he’s already grinning at him as though Harry’s just told the world’s funniest joke. 

"So, uh," Harry scratches at his head, then links his fingers together as they rest on his thighs, "What’d you need me for?" 

"I want you and Paris to date." 

The words catch up to Harry and he stills. He waits for some sort of punch-line, some smile to appear on Paris’ face to give away that that’s a joke and it’s definitely _not_ why he got woken up. But Mr Tomlinson’s looking at him like he’s waiting, and Paris is patient beside him.

Harry blinks. “You want us to…”

"Date, yes. It doesn’t have to be serious, just go out on a few dates around the city holding hands." Mr Tomlinson proposes, talking like it’s the smallest favour in the world. "It’ll gain publicity for both of you, it’s absolutely genius!" 

Harry glances over at Paris, her hands wrapped loosely around each other as they rest on her lap. She has perfect posture, and she’s ever so conspicuously trying to hide the fact that she’s readily about to burst at the seams from excitement. 

Harry’s tempted to tell her he’s gay, just to see her face slowly drop. 

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? That he’s gay and nobody knows. If he goes out with Paris once or twice, then nobody will _ever_ know. And when they do, eventually, find out - it’d be mayhem. But that’d be _great_ , apparently, because of all the publicity Mr Tomlinson so eagerly wants for him to get. 

"What’s the matter, Harry?" He asks, inspecting him as though he were a new-found jewel. "You don’t have someone else, do you?" 

He could tell him now. Tell him that he’s dating his son; tell him that he’s gay and that he doesn’t want to do this at all. 

But then he thinks of the betrayal in Louis’ eyes when he finds out and suddenly that thought sucks up faster than it came out. 

"No." Harry replies. 

"Why the doubt, then? She’s lovely, isn’t she?" Mr Tomlinson compliments. Paris giggles shyly as though she isn’t a well-known award winner.

"Yeah, she is." Harry says. 

 _”She’s no Louis, though.”_ Harry thinks. 

"Great!" Mr Tomlinson exclaims, making Harry jump. "We’ll set you both up tomorrow morning." 

"But I—"

"Just one last thing before you go, Harry." Mr Tomlinson says, standing up. "I want you guys to stand together. I’ve had this pictured in my head ever since I saw you two in the same room." 

Harry and Paris share a glance. Paris stands up immediately while Harry’s still reluctant. He finally joins her after letting out a suppressed sigh and Mr Tomlinson gestures for them to move closer, ‘like a couple!’, and grins when he sees Harry’s hand on Paris’ waist as they stand together. 

"Yes, I’ve got a good eye, haven’t I?" Mr Tomlinson beams, clasping his hands together. "The paparazzi are going to _love_ you!" 

-*-

The second morning at his mother’s house since coming back from the awards feels the same as the first. Instead of waking up to the sound of his father’s voice either shouting at him or shouting at the workers, Louis’ awakened by the pleasant smell of waffles from the kitchen. 

It’s cold without the expensive floored heating throughout the house but Louis likes it better this way. He throws on a pair of pants and a jumper and cracks his joints as he stretches, entering the kitchen with a smile. 

"Mm, smells good." He sits at the bench across from the oven, waiting patiently. 

"Knew it’d wake you up." His mother says, dropping two waffles on the plate in front of him. "It’s almost two, you realize." 

Louis groans, “Mum, don’t start sounding like dad.” 

She gasps, placing a hand on her chest as though she were deeply offended. “I would never!” 

Louis laughs, filling the room with it. 

♫

That night - as the house becomes colder and Louis’ stomach starts to groan with hunger - he decides to treat his mother with dinner. He’s not much of a cook at all, but he does know one meal in particular that he’s made about a thousand times. 

The T.V’s on in the next room as his mother watches it, the smell of cooked ham and chicken drifting through the house. He’s in the midst of plating up before he hears a name from the television. 

"Hey, darling? Isn’t this the boy you were talking about?"

Louis enters the room curiously but it’s not long before his face drops, his stomach going with it.

There, on E! News: ‘Harry Styles and Paris Walker’, on a _date_. 

The headlines, ‘A Serious Relationship or Just a Fling?’ appear on the screen and Louis feels sick. He watches as the footage of Harry with the blonde singer, smiling and walking hand in hand like the perfect couple plays over and over again. 

Has he forgotten about him already? 

"Lou, honey, I’m sorry." His mother says with sympathy, taking his hand gently. 

"Nah, it’s, uh." He clears his throat, telling himself he’s fine. "So, dinner’s on the bench, yeah? I’m, uh, I’m gonna go to bed. Not very hungry." 

The night grows slow after that, the small hums of crickets outside and the occasional creak from the wood cooling down being only sound Louis can hear as he lays in bed. 

He thinks about how Harry had promised he wouldn’t turn into a product of the media and that he wouldn’t disguise himself as something he wasn’t. But then Louis remembers that he _didn’t_ promise him that, and now wishes he did. 

“ _Because I’ve got you_.” Louis mimics in Harry’s voice, scoffing afterwards. The footage of him holding hands with _her_ fill his mind and he feels his chest tighten and throat choke up. “What a load of bullshit.”

But he sort of accepts it in a way, too. Because he _knew_ he wouldn’t get to hold onto Harry forever. Losing him was inevitable - but Louis didn’t think it’d be this harsh. 

So, he rolls over onto his side, his face buried into the pillow as his eyes grow wet. He lets himself cry, thinking that maybe if he lets it out now, it will hurt less in the morning. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the update delay!

Harry rings Louis at ten in the morning as soon as he wakes. He’s been dying to hear his voice ever since they said good-bye; even more so since the complete horror of a “date” that included Paris absolutely pining over him at every second. 

Harry rings Louis, but there’s no reply. 

He figures it may just be because he’s tired, that the car ride was long and he and his mother stayed up late. Louis’ asleep, that’s all. 

A photo shoot and a magazine interview later, Harry rings Louis at one-thirty. It rings through to voicemail again, and Harry starts to get worried. 

"Can you reach Louis?" Harry asks Niall, who’s watching a football match on the television in the living room. 

"Hm?" 

"He asked if you could reach Louis." Liam says to him, glancing over the photos they took that day. 

"Oh, dunno. Haven’t tried. One sec," Niall says, suddenly leaning forwards towards the television. Someone scores a goal and he sits back in frustration, unintentionally forgetting Harry’s question. 

Harry looks to Liam and seems to get a better response from him. Liam takes out his phone and dials the number at once. 

Amazingly, it rings twice and Louis picks up. 

" _Liam, you alright?_ " 

And before Liam can respond, Harry races over in an act of impatience and need, picking up the phone and holding it to his ear. 

"Louis, hey! It’s me, Harry. I had to call off Liam’s phone ‘cause I don’t think mines working at the moment, keeps going to voicemail for some reason." He pauses for a second, then adds, "How’s your mum?" 

A few moments go by before Louis replies, a silence so loud it has Harry thinking that their signal has dropped out. He’s about to ask if he’s still there before he’s interrupted with a tone he’s never heard Louis use before. 

" _You’re really asking me that, Harry_?" 

Harry frowns, and he swears he feels his chest sinking a little. 

"What do you mean? Of course I’m—" 

" _I saw you on the news_ ," Louis says, tasteless and flat, and it makes Harry’s throat feel like it’s closing, " _was she good, huh_?" 

"Christ, Louis, no. You gotta hear me out, we’re not together. I promise you." 

" _Right. Well. Last time you promised me something it didn’t seem to be true, so_." He talks and it’s like he’s taking the warmth out of Harry with every word. " _Have fun with her_." 

And the line goes dead. 

♫

Even after Liam’s consolidation and Niall’s occasional words of wisdom such as: “He’ll get over it!” and “If he won’t love ya then we will!”, Harry still can’t manage to pick himself up from where Louis has managed to throw him. 

"I should call him again, shouldn’t I?" Harry asks them, stress creasing at his forehead as he rubs it, "He doesn’t _know_ anything - it’s only for the media!" 

Liam and Niall exchange looks. Niall shrugs and Liam sighs, sitting down next to Harry and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"Louis’ always been like this, don’t you know? Ever since we’ve known him, _one_ negative thing - however small it is - always takes a toll on him like it’s the worst thing in the world." Liam explains, and his words make it sound like Harry’s done nothing wrong at all. "Give it time, I think. If you keep calling now he’ll get even more frustrated." 

Harry sighs deeply. He hangs his head and rubs at his eyes like they’re irritated and when he sits up and opens them it’s like he’s seen light for the first time. 

"I remember when I had my first argument with Lou," Niall begins, and Harry almost wants to deny that he and Louis are even _having_ an argument - because that’s impossible - he and Louis should never have an argument. "Wasn’t really my fault, though, he got madder than I expected and I didn’t see him for two days! Weird fella, really." 

"Wow," Harry blows out the air between his lips like a whistle, "I wonder how long it’ll be before I see him." 

His stomach clenches at the thought of it being too long. 

"I blame it on his dad, to be honest." Niall clarifies, perhaps a bit too loudly. 

" _Niall_ ," Liam whispers harshly, something like a warning, yet Niall doesn’t catch on. 

"Never really gave enough love to the boy, in my opinion." He shrugs, his arms crossed, "Probably thinks the only way to react is to get pissy and storm out." 

"Fucking hell." Liam utters under his breath, then, " _Niall_!" 

"What, mate?" 

Liam darts his eyes towards the doorway subtly. Harry and Niall’s gazes follow, landing on Mr Tomlinson, amused. 

"Shit - _Christ_ ," Niall almost falls over with fright, his cheeks developing a slight pinkness, "That wasn’t, uh, who I was talkin’ about, wasn’t—" 

"It’s nice to know what you think, now, Niall." He responds, still remaining at the doorway. 

Niall bows his head in shame; Harry tries to stifle his laughter with the back of his hand. 

"With that said," Mr Tomlinson continues, surprisingly untouched by Niall’s confession, "I’d like you to be sitting with the promoters right now, Niall." 

Niall nods firmly, his whole body stiff as he moves across the floor faster than Harry’s ever seen him move, “Right away, Sir.” 

He exits the room and Mr Tomlinson sits in front of Harry, the chairs being a few meters away from each other. 

"Now, Harry," He begins, clamping his hands together. 

"Sorry, uh," Liam scratches his head, hovering out of his chair awkwardly, "did you want me to leave?" 

Mr Tomlinson looks at him for a few seconds. “No, you’re fine. Continue looking over the photos, actually, will you?” 

Liam nods once and moves over to the table. There’s something about him being in the room that comforts Harry, preferring that over it only being him and Louis’ dad. 

"Now, firstly, you’ll be glad to know that there’s been a _hell_ load of press about you and Paris." 

Harry blinks. Liam looks up from his table. 

Harry clears his throat, his creased eyebrows never releasing, “Mr Tomlinson, I—”

"Yes, I know, Harry. Being thrown out into the world can be frightening, overwhelming, _weird_ , even. But the world _loves_ you, Harry. They’re calling you America’s new heart-throb." 

Harry pauses. “But I’m not even American—”

"Amazing, isn’t it?" 

Harry glances towards Liam, who only shrugs in response. 

"Now, Harry, secondly, I want you and Paris on another date. Today. But instead of walking around, I want you two in a shop or a restaurant. And look a little more cheerful this time, Harry, would you? You looked like you could kill the paparazzi with one glance if you wanted to - and not in a good way—" 

"I don’t want to date her." 

Harry’s voice surprises himself. It’s firm and it’s abrupt and it’s enough to stop Mr Tomlinson mid-sentence. His eyes widen for a split second but then they relax, looking at Harry like he was a three-year-old and he’s about to get told off calmly for eating the crayons. 

"Harry, my boy, didn’t we go over this?" His head cocks to one side slightly, his eyes now burning through him like they’re waiting for Harry to fuck up. 

Liam’s stilled completely now, watching on like it were some sort of tense performance. 

"I - well, yeah, we did. But I still don’t think it’s right, to, you know… Lie to the public." 

He sees from the corner of his eyes how Liam shakes his head in disappointment. Harry knows it was pathetic, shut up, Liam. 

"Even the public lie to the public. It’s what we do!" Mr Tomlinson exclaims, throwing his hands up briefly. He leans forwards then, his elbows on his knees as he brings his hands together, his front fingers connecting so they both point towards him. "Here’s the deal. You go on this date for an hour - max. Next week, I’ll let it ‘slip’ to the media that you two are no more, you’re finished, done. Then all _you_ have to do is make up some crap about it being too hard to see each other with such busy schedules. Sound reasonable?" 

Harry finds himself stuck for words. He’s never met a man who is so persuasive and persistent like Mr Tomlinson. 

"Yeah, I… guess?" 

"Great!" He beams, standing up, "I’ll meet you outside." 

And with that, he leaves and the room quickly fills with guilt. 

"Mate…" Liam says with sympathy and amazement. 

Harry lets out a groan, connecting his palms to his head, hoping for the ground to swallow him whole.  

-*-

The next day starts off on a low. One glance at his phone and it’s thrown against his wall out of frustration. 

A text saying ‘ _I’m sorry x_ ’ first thing in the morning isn’t what Louis needed after a night of soaking his pillow with tears. 

Because the truth is, he knows why Harry sent it. It was sent at nine at night, which means Harry and Paris went on another date. 

Of course they did. 

Harry doesn’t have the balls to say no. Ever. 

So Louis regains himself and walks over to pick his neglected phone from the floor. Surprisingly, there are only a few cracks around the corners of the screen and some on the back. Louis half expected - half wanted - for his phone to be completely broken. Since, apparently, everything else is. 

♫

The day doesn’t get better. The morning paper gets delivered and on the fifth page there’s photo and a section of Harry and his… whatever she is - cuddling on a booth in a restaurant like a proper couple. 

The words “ _we’re not together. I promise you_ ” play over in his head and he wants to gauge his eyes out with a spoon because rolling them isn’t enough. 

Instead, he scrunches up the page until it’s a small ball in his hands and he throws it in the bin because it’s only trash to him. 

He never remembers his relationship with Zayn being this hard. 

Sure, they never held hands or stared at each other as they lay in bed like he and Harry did - _heck_ , Zayn didn’t even write a song about him like Harry did. But, still, at least it was easier that way. 

Zayn was simple. He stated what he wanted and they had a mutual agreement that they would have sex without any commitments. And that’s all Louis’ ever been good for, isn’t it? Because once feelings are exchanged and promises are made - things turn to dust, and tears are made instead. 

He grabs his phone without thinking and dials Harry’s number. Spontaneously and suddenly willing to give Harry a chance to fix it. Because he may as well _try_ before he disregards him completely. Plus, he needs to know for sure that this relationship is toxic to him because otherwise there’ll be no way he’ll get over that green-eyed boy.

Louis doesn’t even get a chance to figure out what to say before Harry picks up in the middle of the first ring. 

" _Louis_ ," He says, breathlessly like he’s been holding it in, " _I’m so glad you called, I’ve missed you, it’s so—_ "

"Break up with her." Louis blurts before he can stop himself.

There’s a pause. Harry swallows before he says, " _I am, Lou. We’re breaking it off next week_." 

Louis tightens his hand around his phone. He shakes his head. “That’s too far away.” 

" _But your father’s made a deal that—_ " 

"Wait," Louis frowns, eyes widening. "My _father_?" 

There’s another pause. Then, “ _Yeah, Lou. He’s the one that’s been making us be together. That’s what I was trying to tell you two days ago_ —”

"Fucking _hell_ , Harry." Louis stands up, needing to walk around to fathom this. The fact that Harry is getting pulled around like he’s the dog on a leash and his father’s the owner makes Louis all the more infuriated. "You’re telling me, that after all this time, you could’ve just bloody said _no_?!" 

" _I tried, I_ —" 

"D’you know how hard it is to see your fucking face in the newspaper next to some bimbo with the caption ‘ _romantic singers at it again_ ’, while she’s holding your goddamn hand?" 

" _Louis, fuck, please, it’s not - I’m not_ —“ Harry sighs, sounding like he’s frustrated with himself. Good. As he should be. " _I’m really sorry, I am. But it’s done now, you won’t see us together,_ ever _again_."

Louis tries to hold back the break in his voice but it doesn’t work, “Well, for as long as the media thinks you’re straight then I guess we won’t be seen together, either.” 

Harry sniffs, and it shouldn’t be as heartbreaking as it sounds, “ _Louis_.” 

That’s all he says and he’s hoping he’ll say more but he doesn’t. 

"Bye, Harry." 

He hangs up the phone and the world goes silent. 

-*-

It ended with shouts of anger and threats to cancel the contract but Harry didn’t care. Mr Tomlinson’s never been this mad with him before and he’s not letting him in the house until he calms down but Harry doesn’t care. 

Harry doesn’t care because he’s finally done something that makes sense. It’s feels sort of relieving, really. Like he’s gotten something off his chest, a hard weight that’s been pulling him down. 

And now, as the sky turns dark and he drives down the main roads, his first instinct is to get drunk. He’s been brave enough to hold back his emotions this far, and it’s only now hit him - the conversation with Louis, the conversation with Louis’ father - and it’s extremely overwhelming because this is not what he wanted at all. 

His phone starts to ring. It shouldn’t be as alarming as it is, but his heart sufficiently sinks when he realises it’s his father - split-secondly hoping that it was someone else. 

"Dad, hey." 

" _Harry, you alright? I heard what happened_." 

"Been better," Harry admits, unintentionally sighing, "I’m sorry I started this." 

" _No, no, no_ ," His father denies, softness in his voice, " _don’t be stupid, Harry. You had every right to say no. Quite frankly, I think you should’ve said no from the start_!" 

Harry chuckles. “Believe me, so do I.”

" _So, are you coming home anytime soon_?" 

"Uhh," Harry contemplates turning around the car and just heading home for the night. But, as fast as the idea comes, it goes. Because something like a magnet is pulling him towards the nightclub he was originally planning to go to - like he’s _supposed_ to go there. "Not tonight, dad. But I’ll see you in the morning, okay?" 

" _Sure, Harry_." His father says, understandably, " _Be safe_." 

He hangs up and Harry continues driving. He wonders what the pull is, why his own mind is so keen for going this way - for heading towards this destination. 

He hopes the paparazzi aren’t out tonight, prays that the club isn’t too filled with too many people that know him. 

-*-

It’s too late now - he’s here. Louis’ not entirely sure why he’s here, actually, when he’d be fine and content just staying at home and watching movies with his mother. But, no, he’s out. 

He’d made the decision in the shower, then as simple as that he pulled on an outfit, grabbed his keys, and was out the door in a matter of seconds. 

And now he’s here, in front of a loud club with a queue of about four people. Well, that’s expected, really, for a Wednesday night. 

The bouncer doesn’t even check Louis for I.D when he comes to the door - though, he doesn’t check Louis at all - so he strolls in without hassle, ears filling with music as he feels the bass echo inside his chest. 

He realizes that this would be a good place to forget and _that’s_ why he’s here. He needs to drink, find someone, and hopefully wake up with a blurry head and be absolutely fine. 

So, Louis heads towards the almost empty bar first, the memory of his last drunken occurrence flows through his head without permission and Louis instantly frowns, his heart sinking ever-so-slightly at the memory of Harry taking care of him. 

Which, evidently leaves Louis to down his first vodka shot straight away, ordering another one as soon as the sting in his throat dies down a little. 

"Rough night?" 

Louis turns his head to the sound of someone’s voice. He’s around Louis’ age, brown eyes and hair that’s mostly existent in the fringe. He smiles and that’s when Louis realizes this stranger isn’t too bad. 

"Little bit, yeah." Louis says with a shrug as his next shot gets placed in front of him. 

The boy orders his drink, something spectacular that Louis didn’t really catch, and turns back to Louis. 

"Break up, I’m guessing?" 

He doesn’t look like the judgmental type, so Louis takes his second shot in hopes that his mind will start blurring soon. 

"Yep, total twat." Louis says with a nod, "Famous, too."

The boy raises his eyes, slightly impressed. “ _Really_? Who would that be?” 

"I shouldn’t really tell you, but, uh," Louis gestures for him to come closer, and then he whispers in his ear, "Harry Styles." 

The reaction he gets isn’t the one he was expecting. He lets out a laugh instead of a gasp - shaking his head as he does it. 

"Oh, man. He’s straight, didn’t you know?" He says, then nods once to the bartender after handing him his drink, "That’s harsh, I’m sorry about that." 

Louis waves him off, trying not to expose anything about the publicity stunt. “Won’t bother me after a few drinks, I’m sure.” 

He laughs again, this time he holds out his hand, “Aiden.” 

Louis takes it with a smile, “Louis.” 

"Hey, how about this," Aiden says as he takes the stool next to Louis, "If, after a couple more shots, you’re _still_ upset over Styles, you come dance with me." 

Louis’ lips tilt up at the corners, which may have something to do with the fact that the alcohol’s finally buzzing inside him a little, or because Aiden’s eyes are a lovely shade and his smile brightens up his whole face. 

"Okay, sure," Louis says, without a second thought. 

Because he seems like a nice guy. He seems like someone who _wouldn’t_  betray him, someone that’d put him first. And as he takes his third shot, the smell of vodka stains the back of his throat like it was meant to hurt him. But he shakes it off, because now he’s laughing with Aiden - and totally _not_ thinking of Harry Styles. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

The room quickly becomes stuffier as the night progresses. Six drinks down and Harry’s fairly sure he’s seen more Louis doppelgängers than anything else he’s ever seen before. That is - they _seem_ to look like Louis - until Harry blinks and their features change. 

It’s like a mirage; something that he wishes is real. And as he looks around, he tries to keep hidden, not wanting any publicity since that word has grown so bitter Harry’s afraid that if he were to say it - it’d taste like acid on his tongue. 

So he downs another drink, letting his mind ease to keep him from thinking about the horrors that happened earlier that day. 

He looks around again, swinging around on the barstool so he faces the club as he rests his elbows against the bench behind him. He scans the room and once again all the faces he sees seem to shine like Louis’ does. 

But this time, when Harry blinks, there’s one face that remains the same. 

Harry stands, his eyes locked on the boy, dancing. He smiles, but it’s gone as quick as it comes. Because as someone moves, it reveals another man behind Louis, dancing _with_ him. 

Harry’s fists clench at his sides, he frowns deeply and regretfully watches on as someone else is with _his_ Louis. He spots his hands on Louis’ hips, his lips near Louis’ neck, his pelvis rutting up against Louis’— 

Harry shakes his head and his feet are moving before he can stop himself - as though the magnet that brought him here has come back, stronger than ever. 

Louis seems to feel it, too, because his eyes lock with Harry’s and he stops dancing straight away, his emotion displaying something that Harry can’t describe. 

"Hey." Harry says, trying not to give the unknown man behind Louis too many death threats with his vicious glares. 

Louis looks Harry up and down, swallowing. He tilts his chin up, as though he’s still annoyed - yet his eyes portray something different. 

"Harry." He says, dry. 

"Who’s this, babe?" The guy asks Louis. 

 _Babe_? 

Harry’s impulses take over and suddenly he’s taking Louis’ hand and yanking him away from the crowd, despite any objections from Louis’ mouth. 

"Hey!" He calls once they come to a stop near the bar. He pulls his hand out of Harry’s grip abruptly, "What do you think you’re doing?" 

"What are you doing with him?" Harry accuses, even though he knows he shouldn’t be doing that. Truth is, he’s a little drunk and he’s not even sure whether or not anything that he’s saying is coming out clearly. 

"What?" Louis frowns at him, confused. He shakes his head, "Harry, I’m still mad at you." 

"I’m gay with you." 

There’s a pause. Harry blinks. 

"What _are_ you on about?" Louis asks, but doesn’t expect an answer. "Look, I meant what I said on the phone. And you’re probably too drunk to process what I’m even saying right now… and you’re looking at me like you’re on cloud nine and - shit, Harry, are you even listening?" 

Harry finds himself smiling, his thoughts filling with Louis and nothing else. He’s pretty sure his balance is off but right now he can’t be too sure. 

"I always listen to you, Lou." 

"Shit, alright, you’re drunk - uh, here," Louis takes Harry by the arm and sits him down on a stool. He then asks the bartender for something that Harry doesn’t quite catch. 

A few seconds later (it might have been minutes, Harry’s not entirely sure, because when you’re looking at Louis’ face time never seems to be long enough) a glass is placed in front of him. Louis brings it towards Harry encouragingly. 

"C’mon, drink up." 

Harry smiles, “You tryna get me drunk, huh?” 

Louis lets out a short, sharp laugh, “Think we’re way passed that, love,” he says, patting Harry on the shoulder. 

Harry’s entire body fills with warmth. “I love it when you call me that.” 

Louis nods, “Right. Well, I would love it if you’d drink that glass of water for me, yeah?” 

At that, Harry’s hand wraps around the glass without hesitation. He brings it to his lips and drinks until there’s nothing left. 

He returns to Louis, who looks at him wide-eyed. 

"Wow. I didn’t mean all in one go, but, you know, good job." 

"Anything for Louis." Harry says, nodding to himself. 

-*-

Harry sobers up a little more after staying in one position, eating as much food and drinking as much water as the bartender will allow - and Louis knows that’s not helping him to become less drunk and that, _really_ , he could leave at any time - but Louis tells himself that he owes Harry. Purely because of last time, when Louis was drinking himself senseless, and Harry abandoned his own party to make him feel better. _Much_ better. 

"I’m so sorry, Lou." Harry says, placing his glass down with sorrow, his voice becoming limp as he looks at Louis with sad eyes. "I didn’t want to - I never - I should’ve said no." 

Harry’s emotions have been swinging from high to low the entire time Louis’ been with him. But right now, this seems to be the lowest. 

Louis looks at him for a couple of seconds, aware that emotions are heightened when under the influence, but Harry looks _truly_ apologetic and Louis feels somewhere deep inside him that he should apologize, too. 

"Hey, Harry," Louis says with a sigh, placing a light hand on his back as he trails his fingers to create patterns on his t-shirt. "You know what?" 

Harry blinks, his big, green, delicate eyes look at Louis and it’s enough for Louis to want to wrap him in a big hug and kiss him senseless just to make him laugh. 

"I was a bit of a dick to you," Louis admits. And surprisingly, Harry’s eyes widen in protest, shaking his head numerous times as his eyebrows start to frown. 

"No, no, no," He says, placing a firm hand on the side of Louis’ neck, "you are _never_ a dick." 

Louis starts to laugh, finding hilarity in how ridiculous Harry’s being, “Harry—” 

"Now, you listen to me, Tomlinson." He says, trying his best to be stern but his words are slurring and his eyes are sort of droopy, "I don’t give a _shit_ about what that father of yours thinks. And I told him that if… If he wants publicity than maybe _he_ should date Paris." 

Louis’ smile slowly drops. “Harry, you really said that?” 

"Yeah, I did!" He says proudly, removing his hand as he returns back to his glass. "Was sick of him always coming between you and me." 

Louis’ stomach flutters and it’s like he’s seeing Harry in a whole new light. He was _sure_ that after acting like the biggest douche, Harry would want nothing to do with Louis. But here he is, _apologizing_. 

♫

The night goes on, and Harry’s at least stable on both legs. Plus, his eyes aren’t completely dazed anymore and his words are more fluent and coherent than they were before. Louis hopes that Harry’s senses won’t kick in now that he’s growing sober - hopes that he won’t come to terms that he could have anyone right now and he could very well ditch Louis in the midst of it all. 

Because Louis can’t ignore all the eyes on Harry, all the men and women looking him up and down like he’s fresh meat ready to be grabbed and gnawed on.  

So, before Harry can change his mind and before anyone can make a move - Louis leads Harry out onto the dance floor. 

"So, you’re not still mad at me, then?" Harry asks as they reach the centre, smirking slightly in a way that makes Louis’ cheeks feel hot. 

"Nah," Louis shrugs, lacing his arms around Harry’s neck, "just don’t ever do that again." 

Harry smiles, his hands placed on Louis’ hips, “After what you put me through, I don’t think that will be a problem.” 

Louis laughs and shakes his head, burying his face into Harry’s chest. They stay like that for a few minutes, Louis wrapped in Harry’s arms as they both sway slightly together, ignoring the rest of the world. Louis closes his eyes, mentally praying that this isn’t some lovely dream. 

And then, like a pinch to his skin, flashes in the distance cause him to open his eyes. He feels Harry still, his hands unintentionally tensing on Louis’ hips. 

"What was that?" Louis asks, just as another dozen of flashes echo in the corner of the club. 

"Paparazzi." Harry groans, frustration in his voice. He grabs Louis’ hand, "C’mon." 

Through the crowd, Louis’ pulled through as fast as Harry can manage - squeezing passed needy people who have suddenly realized that Harry’s leaving - yet he doesn’t stop once, not even for a second. 

Louis keeps his head down as the paparazzi follow, bright lights filling Louis’ eyes, soon having to block it out with his vacant hand. Eventually the cool air hits his skin and the sound of loud music is quickly muffled as they exit and walk down the street outside of the club, the air filling with rain. 

Harry doesn’t slow down yet, though. And as a group of hurried footsteps are heard, Harry tugs Louis firmly into an empty alleyway with no lights to illuminate their presence, successfully hiding from the media-thirsty paparazzi that scurry passed without a second thought. 

Louis dips his head out, breathing out a sigh of relief as he sees them vanish around another corner. He glances back at Harry, who’s got his head rested against the wall, rain trickling down his neck, looking somewhat disappointed in himself. 

Taking his hands into his own, Louis makes sure he’s alright. 

"I don’t want this for you." He says eventually, avoiding Louis’ gaze. 

He’s still intoxicated, his eyes aren’t exactly focused and the smell of vodka still lingers on his tongue, but he’s clearer now, which may or may not make Louis feel uneasy. 

"Don’t worry about it, Haz. They’re fucking—" 

"You do realize that they’ve got photos of us together now. That’s gonna be in the paper, everyone’s gonna see it. Your father—" 

"Harry," Louis says calmly, dropping one of his hands to hold Harry’s chin gently, locking his eyes with his own. "What makes you think I care about that?" 

Harry’s eyes finally remain in one place. He looks at Louis and there’s emotion in them that isn’t disguised with vagueness at all. He swallows, his Adam’s apple follows the movement and Louis brushes his thumb against Harry’s jawline. 

"You have to go home to your mum, Louis." 

Louis shakes his head immediately, “I’m not letting you face him on your own.” 

He pictures his father, infuriated and fuming with so much rage he could burst. It’s not hard to envision, really, since that’s all he ever sees his father as, anyway. 

But picturing Harry getting yelled at and abused isn’t a settling feeling. He doesn’t want Harry to get the same emotional affects that Louis has implemented from the constant put downs and neglect - he never wants to be responsible for Harry’s unhappiness. 

"Someone has to," He says, and then leans in to kiss Louis once, "and it sure as hell isn’t gonna be you." 

Louis wants to say something that will change Harry’s mind, but instead he kisses him because that’s really all he’s wanted to do since they departed from each other. It’s soft and sweet, and it’s all so rewarding when Harry smiles at him like he’s just won the lottery. 

And then it’s ruined in a flash - literally. 

"Fuck," Harry mutters, taking Louis’ hand again and walking until they’re at the curb, facing away from the mob of persistent paparazzi, "Taxi!" 

A car pulls up beside them and Harry kisses Louis once more before he opens the door. It’s not until Louis sits when he realizes Harry’s not joining him. 

"Harry, stay with me." Louis says quickly, refusing to let go of his hand. 

"I don’t want them harassing you, Lou." Harry hugs him, the rain pouring into the taxi but it’s fine because this time it’s not some fancy limousine. "I’ll call you tomorrow." 

Louis looks at him - and for a moment of impulse and emotion, he almost dares to admit the three words that dangle like dream catchers at the back of his mind, almost escaping out of his mouth before shutting it off completely. 

The paparazzi are crowding in now, and Louis doesn’t get in one word - let alone three - before Harry’s shutting the car door protectively, as though the paparazzi are vultures and Harry’s the brave knight defending his prince. 

And before the rain covers the window completely, he sees Harry walking off with the vultures following his every move as Louis gets driven away. 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Louis sits opposite his mother on the table. The air outside is icy as it edges further towards winter, the window beside him fogging up until all that’s seen is grey mist and whiteness that’s soon to be snow. 

His mother’s shaking her head in response to the events Louis had filled her in on regarding his father and Harry. Her hands are cupped firmly around her hot mug of tea and her face is written with disappointment and astonishment. 

"Honestly can’t believe him, darling, I really can’t," She says, continuing to shake her head, "people like him need to open their eyes and get smacked at the same time." 

Louis remains quiet and blows on his own tea instead. He knows this is what she’s like when she’s unable to fathom something, she talks - almost to herself - until she settles on one firm opinion or resolution. 

"And Harry’s gone back to face your father by himself?" 

Louis’ mind fills with images of Harry walking in the rain, flashes bombarding him with every step. 

He swallows guiltily, “Yeah.” 

"God," She curses as she lets out an audible breath, "he’s brave." 

Louis nods, his eyes set on his tea. “Yeah,” He repeats, almost ashamedly again, “he is.” 

"He should stay with us, I think." His mother confirms, like her deliberation has come to a stop and this is the outcome. "Well, I mean, if his father’s okay with that, of course." 

Louis finds himself smiling, “He’s a famous pop-star, I think he’ll be right.” 

-

His phone picks up on the first ring, his voice filling Louis’ ear almost automatically. 

" _Louis_ ," 

It’s not like it’s been too long since he’s heard his voice. But - _oh_ \- did it sound full-filling. It runs through Louis’ body like a heat bag and makes his whole body feel alive despite the coldness and dampness that lurks outside. He starts to wonder what he’d be doing right now if he hadn’t seen Harry at the club last night. 

"Harry, hey, how’re you?" 

" _Alright_ ," He responds. Then almost as an afterthought, he adds, " _Missing you_." 

Louis lies down on his bed from where he’s sitting. He’s smiling so wide his cheeks reach his eyes. He wants to kick himself for being so bashful but at the same time he never wants to stop feeling like this. 

"Miss you, too." Louis says, smiling. 

They sit in silence for a while, just listening to each other breathe like it’s why they’re having a phone conversation in the first place. Louis realizes that Harry probably doesn’t have much time, so he sits up again and clears his throat. 

"Have you, uh, have you seen him yet?" 

" _Your dad? Nah, I see him tonight or tomorrow morning_." Harry’s voice is surprisingly calm. Maybe he _isn’t_ afraid of Louis’ father. 

"Good luck with that." Louis tells him, half-jokingly - half not. "Try not to get your ass kicked." 

Harry chokes out a laugh, “ _Okay, I’ll try_.” 

"Also," Louis says, aimlessly fiddling with a loose strand on his sweater, "I’ve got a spare spot on my bed if you wanna fill it?" 

He hears the other line fill with muffled sounds and clutters of noises that almost sound like the phone just dropped. It becomes clearer, and Louis has to stifle a laugh. 

" _Oh, uh_ , _sure_ ," Harry splutters out, coughing once to clear his throat, " _I’ll be over tomorrow_." 

-*-

The suitcase is open on his bed as he moves around his room and throws in suitable clothing for his trip up to Louis’. His father was more than eager for Harry to escape for some time - Harry’s pretty sure he found out about him and Louis - and was so eager it was almost confused with fear. Fear of Mr Tomlinson and his actions.

Harry throws in the last of his gear and shuts his suitcase, struggling with the zipper but eventually closing it completely. He enters the lounge room and finds his father at the table. 

He glances up, and then takes off his glasses, “All ready?” 

Harry nods, “I think so.” 

A second passes before the front door swings open, almost enough for it to bash into the wall beside it. There, emerging from the rain outside, Mr Tomlinson stands. He locks eyes with Harry straight away and slams the door behind him, almost as a statement. 

His hair’s stuck to his forehead from the rain and his suit’s damp too. He’s holding his phone in one hand, showing something in particular, his grip on it is so tight it’s amazing that the phone hasn’t shattered. 

"Mr Tomlinson, how’re you?" Harry asks, as calmly as he can. He gets something like a sneer in response and Harry blinks. 

"You did this on _purpose_ , didn’t you?" He accuses, the corner of his top lip twitches a little. 

Harry looks at him blankly and tries to keep his voice level. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He feels his father tense beside him. 

Mr Tomlinson lets out a laugh of disbelief. “Very funny, Styles.” His voice comes out strained, through gritted teeth. “Perhaps you’d like to see, then? It’s all over the news, now, actually. Fucking great, is what it is. Fucking great!” 

He throws his phone to Harry harder than necessary and Harry catches it against his chest in surprise. He looks at the screen with photos of him and Louis dancing, holding hands and Harry giving him a kiss as Louis sits in the taxi. 

Harry carefully raises his eyes to meet Mr Tomlinson’s again. He’s almost _shaking_ with rage, fists clenched by his sides. 

"Mr Tomlinson—"

He snatches the phone out of Harry’s hand and shoves a finger to his chest, “Was this some sort of _ploy_ to rebel? Is this your way of ‘getting back’ at me? Fucking brilliant, if I do say so myself. Way to cause a scene!” 

Harry’s father’s standing now. Harry simply shakes his head. 

"No," He says, "it wasn’t. Louis and I are dating, sir." 

Mr Tomlinson’s finger remains on his chest but his brows soften on his forehead. His eyes fill with something like confusion and slight frustration and something else that’s not accusing at all. 

He drops his finger and clears his throat, dropping his eyes as he does so. He straightens himself out and looks around awkwardly, slowly shaking his head. 

"Dating?" 

Harry nods once, “Yes.” 

Mr Tomlinson shuts his eyes and brings his forefinger and thumb to them, rubbing, before then squeezing the bridge of his nose briefly. 

"They’re dating," He mumbles to himself, "They’re fucking dating." 

He then lets out a sigh of frustration and tilts his head back with his eyes still closed. Harry and his father watch on. 

"Un- _fucking_ -believable." 

It’s then, that Harry realizes he’s been drinking. 

"I oughta just cancel your contract now, then, shouldn’t I?" Mr Tomlinson says with a fake smile. "My son’s nothing but a curse, I tell you." 

"Hey!" Harry crosses the room as he shouts. This time, it’s his own stern finger against Mr Tomlinson’s sternum – anger rising through his chest. "Your son is everything but a curse. It’s just a shame that your alcoholic, screwed up head can’t see that." 

His eyes are wider than Harry’s ever seen them before. Then his eyebrows draw together but it’s not with anger, it’s with a complex amount of puzzlement. 

Harry steps away, satisfied with the outcome. He steps over to his father, who looks sort of proud. 

"I’ll see you when I see you." Harry says as they wrap their arms around each other. 

"Have fun." His father says. "Say hello to your boyfriend for me." 

Harry laughs into his shoulder. They pull apart and he grabs his suitcase, walking passed the shocked, drunk Tomlinson, and walks out the front door. 

-*-

Hearing a car pull up to the drive-way shouldn’t put endless amounts of fluttering and jitteriness throughout Louis’ body. His eyes brighten straight away, his head turning towards his mother in delight, almost bouncing out of the couch to greet Harry. 

He swings open the front door and sees him at his car, pulling out his bag. Louis can’t wait, so he bolts down the three stairs and attacks Harry excitedly, throwing his legs around Harry’s middle with his arms around his neck. 

"Whoa," Harry breathes, taken by surprise. He smiles, "Hey there, koala." 

"Hi." Louis says, and presses a kiss to his lips. 

It sends warmth throughout him, thinking that in the middle of winter he could save money on clothes and spend the entire time kissing Harry instead. 

"Where’s your mum?" 

Louis blinks at him. He edges his face and blinks again, this time dramatically. “God, Harry, I’m right here and you ask about my mum? _Such_ a keeper, you are.” 

Of course he’s joking, but he can’t help himself when Harry has those puppy-dog eyes and that look that makes it look like he’s questioning everything he’s ever done in his life. 

"Lou," He says, and then a flicker of knowledge appears in his eyes, as though he’s caught on, and he smirks. "You do know I only came for her." 

Louis lets out a gasp and unwraps himself from Harry’s middle, jumping down onto solid ground. 

"Well, have fun with her, then." 

And as he attempts to storm off, his wrist is grabbed - in the most delicate yet forceful way - and suddenly he’s pressed against the car, Harry leaning over him. 

The air is taken out of Louis, and it’s not until Harry’s got his hands on Louis’ hips and his mouth on Louis’ when he realizes that air is important. 

Harry takes Louis’ bottom lip between his teeth and pulls it back before leaning his forehead onto Louis’. 

Louis swallows harshly. “Not even five minutes into your stay and you’ve already given me a hard on.” He says, somewhat embarrassed. “Well done.” 

And Harry smiles so smug and Louis _hates_ it. He also wants to take him to bed and see Harry like this for the rest of his life. 

"Harry, is it?" 

Louis’ mother calls from the top of the steps and Harry flies off of Louis in less than a millisecond. He clears his throat twice and holds out his hand as he meets up with her. 

"Hello, Mrs…" Harry falters, unable to recall her surname. 

Louis’ mother shakes his hand, “Legally, I’m still a Tomlinson but call me Johanna.” 

They smile at each other and she invites him in. Louis calls out but it’s started to rain and it’s loud on the tin roof, making it exceptionally hard to head Louis’ voice. 

He groans, and takes Harry’s suitcase up the drive-way since he has no other choice. It’s not until he has to lift it up to take it passed the stairs when he realizes how big and full it is. 

He finally reaches the door and plops the bag down with a huff, rain covering his clothes and hair. 

"Shit, Harry," Louis says, talking to him from where he’s sat at the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, "How long do you plan on staying for? Three years?" 

Harry smiles cheekily, the kind of smile that shows his dimples and teeth. “If that’s alright with you?” 

Louis’ stomach swoops and it’s ridiculous because if Harry wasn’t joking he’d definitely say yes without a second thought. It’s terrible, really, since he’s never even _thought_ about long term relationships until now. 

So he sucks down the feeling and brushes through Harry’s hair messily with his fingers, shaking his head. 

"Never in a million years, Styles." 

-*-

They eat dinner on the couch, chicken risotto, and it’s so average and normal and _homey_ that Harry almost forgets about his life outside of this cosy atmosphere completely. 

He forgets about the pressure, the industry, the flashes, the expectations - he forgets it all so suddenly it’s like Louis has the power to erase all the dramatic elements and instead fill the void with simplicity and a sense of elatedness that is contagious. 

They avoid the chat shows and all types of media-based programs as they watch television, Louis and Harry’s bodies cuddled up in the very corner of the couch, Louis’ mother on the recliner on the left side of the room. 

"Quite cold, isn’t it?" She says, her arms folded over her chest. 

Harry would normally agree, but he hadn’t even noticed the chill in the air. He’s got Louis leaning on his chest and his hands playing with one of Harry’s - warmth is the only thing he feels. 

"Want me to get you a blanket, mum?" Louis asks her, still side-tracked with the lines on Harry’s palm, his finger delicately tracing each one. 

She pauses, as though to think, then says, “No, darling, that’s okay. I’ll head off to bed.” 

She gets up reluctantly from the recliner, as though standing up will make her more vulnerable towards the cold, and leaves the room. 

It’s suddenly much more intimate than before. Louis’ heartbeat echoes and it’s felt through Harry’s. Harry wonders if Louis feels the same thing. 

"Haz," He says. And there’s something in his voice that makes it seem like he’s been thinking, as though he’s guilty. He sits up, his thigh resting against Harry’s as he crosses them over. His hand remains on Harry’s, and his eyes are focused on it. “‘M really sorry." 

Harry blinks and waits for Louis’ eyes to meet his own before he continues, “Sorry for what?” 

"I dunno…" He shrugs, and continues tracing patterns on Harry’s hand. Harry hopes he never stops. "For accusing you and being a twat, I guess." 

"Lou, you weren’t a twat." 

He smiles and nods his head. “Yeah, I was.” He crawls in underneath Harry’s arm and rests his head on his shoulder. “But it’s only ‘cause I like you a lot.” 

Harry’s not really sure what he means by that. He’s never met someone who reacts terribly because they like him a lot. 

But because it’s Louis and because he’s unpredictable and weird, Harry releases his frown and threads his fingers through Louis’ hair soothingly instead. 

The room slows to quietness and it’s all so eerie and loud at the same time because the television’s still on, showing something about nature and the weather. Harry’s not entirely sure if Louis’ fallen asleep or not. He looks so delicate like this; head on Harry’s thigh, curled up and comfortable, so soft and susceptible – a way that Harry would have never pictured him to look since the first time they spoke in that coffee shop. 

He brushes the back of his fingertips against Louis’ cheek delicately. His heart speeds up when he sees Louis’ eyelids flutter.

“Are you cold, too?” He asks, his voice slightly croaky from the prolonged absence of it.

Harry suddenly notices his own toes that have frozen in his shoes, unable to move. He wonders why his chest is so warm but the rest of his body isn’t.

“Are you?” He asks Louis without thinking, ignoring the question for himself.

Louis cracks a small smile, “Always thinking of others, aren’t you?” Harry stays quiet and continues to trail his fingers between Louis’ hair. “I am, a bit. Bed’s a lot more comfy, anyway.”

“Well, that settles it.” Harry states, moving his arms so one hooks underneath Louis’ knees, the other braced underneath his shoulders. “Off to bed we go!”

Harry lifts up and he stands as Louis lets out a shocked gasp. Harry carries him and Louis starts to grin happily, suddenly not so sleepy anymore.

“Woo!” He throws up his arms and lets Harry carry him with ease towards the bedroom. “Towards my castle, my brave knight!”

Harry chuckles with fondness and enters the room that belongs to Louis with help of directions that included Louis pointing and ordering with exclamation. He shuts the door behind them with a slight kick of his foot, and then moves towards the bed.

“Lay me down,” Louis orders, looking at Harry’s eyes, “and make me warm while you’re at it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry conforms shamelessly, lying Louis down onto the small bed as though he were a brave steed and Louis were a princess.

Louis smiles contently as Harry takes a quick glance around the room. He sizes up the bed and wonders if he’ll even be able to fit on that with Louis sharing it with him. After that, he realises that nothing in this room compares to the one Louis has at his father’s house. Everything’s so much smaller, _similar_. It reminds Harry of his own.

He crawls underneath the covers after he kicks off his shoes and the warmth fills his whole body.

“Snuggle me, you fool.” Louis tells him. And although all this ordering around would normally make others roll their eyes and push him away, it makes Harry roll his eyes and pull him closer.

Harry kisses the back of Louis’ neck and wraps his arm around his middle, thinking that if he lived in this bubble forever, that would be okay.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

It’s hazy and dim when Louis wakes in the afternoon, Harry sprawled next to him as they lay in bed.

He hears the motor of a car running outside his window. He’s too lazy to sit up and watch the car go, but he already assumes it’s his mother leaving for work.

He’s not too lazy to glance over at Harry, though, sleeping peacefully next to him with one of his curls draped over his eyes. There’s a lurch in Louis’ chest when the realisation of Harry hits him.

A sense of slight relief comes next, thinking that, if Harry’s here and his face is in the paper and his album’ topping the charts and if Harry’s eyes still light up at the sight of him, that maybe, just maybe, Louis won’t lose him.

He pulls the duvet up, shifting next to Harry’s, soaking up every bit of warmth Harry gives him. He kisses his shoulder and falls asleep again to the sound of Harry breathing.

-*-

It’s warm and light when Harry wakes in the afternoon, Louis cuddled tightly next to him as they lay in bed.

He guesses it’s something like two thirty in the afternoon, the sun hard against his sensitive eyes. He looks down at Louis, smiling softly in his dreams.

He moves his hand up to Louis’ face and moves a few strands of hair behind his ear. They both know that he desperately needs a haircut, but they also both know that grabbing onto it as they make out overweighs everything.

He kisses the top of Louis’ head and wonders if that smile is from him.

Louis lets out something like a sigh, stretching the arm that’s lying on Harry’s chest. He blinks his eyes a couple of times and Harry wants to die at how cute that is. It looks like he’s about to fall asleep again but because it’s two thirty in the afternoon and because he desperately wants to kiss Louis, he speaks.

"Morning, sunshine."

Louis glances up, pleasantly surprised and somewhat dazed. “Oh,” He says, smiling with tired eyes, “morning, sweet cheeks.”

"We’ve nearly slept all day," Harry says, his voice raspy. It seems to disturb the serenity of the initial wake up but it looks as if Louis’ warmed by it; the corners of his mouth tilting upwards slightly at the sound.

He shrugs, “Doesn’t matter. We can afford to waste half a day.” He lifts himself up; his face only now inches away from Harry’s. “Besides, you’re staying here for _months_ , aren’t you?”

He flashes him a cheeky grin and Harry wants to devour him whole.

"Years, even." He tells Louis, almost breathlessly. He’s not used to being this close in the mornings.

"Years?" Louis raises his eyebrows, walking forwards on his hands so he’s a little closer. "You’d think a marriage proposal would be thrown in there."

This time, Harry shrugs. “Maybe there is.”

Louis pauses for a second. Harry’s eyes become unfocused and Louis' face becomes a blur in his vision yet at the same time Louis’ everything he sees. Colours of sun kissed skin, deep blue eyes and the pinkness of his lips all blend into one like spots on a painting.

Louis pauses for a second and suddenly Harry’s body runs cold with the thought that he’s scared him.

But then Louis’ closing the distance and pressing his lips against Harry’s, silently letting him know that he isn’t afraid anymore.

-*-

The air doesn’t snip at Louis’ skin like it did a few days ago. Instead, it shines on him like a nice, warm glow.

He and Harry are out near the centre, their hands interlocked as they walk the streets of Doncaster, passing pedestrians as they turn to look at the both of them with mixed emotions.

Louis squeezes Harry’s hand whenever he sees someone frown - something to display either disgust or confusion - because it twists his stomach in a way that makes him want to do one of two things. One, abuse the person or two, throw up.

But Harry’s so calm. He’s like a boat travelling swiftly through a rocky sea, passing people without looking at them, his shoulders back and his walk confident, as though he weren’t holding hands with a boy in the public eye.

Louis wonders what his father will say to him when they eventually speak, whether he’ll have to learn how to defend himself from physical abuse – whether they’ll even talk at _all_. Louis wonders if Harry’s career will still stay successful even after all this.

He wonders whether his father was right.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Harry says beside him, leaning backwards slightly for emphasis on his annoyance.

Louis frowns, and then he notices the stampede of flashes that have suddenly surrounded them.

"It’s okay, Haz." Louis tells him, bringing his other hand to touch Harry’s arm comfortingly. "They were bound to appear sooner or later."

"I know," He says, sighing, "just thought they would’ve had enough pictures of us already."

The paparazzi quickly circle around them, following every footstep the couple take, flashes going off every two seconds.

"Shit, there are reporters." Harry whispers, "Ignore the hell outta them."

Louis nods once. They continue to walk, the circle of paps moving with them. Reporters shove through as though they were all predators and Louis and Harry were the meat. Microphones are shoved in each of their faces, words being yelled so they’re able to be heard over their competition and the constant sounds of cameras.

"Harry! Harry! Is it true that you’re gay now?"

"Who is this? What happened to Paris?"

"There are rumours going around that Paris is actually a man. Can you confirm or deny this?"

"What is your name? Harry, what’s this boy’s name?"

Then like a train changing tracks, Harry darts into a small shop, pulling Louis closely behind him.

They shut the door behind them; the repeated and muffled questions are still shouted through the wooden door. A few flashes go off, then slowly but surely, they fade to none.

In this contrastingly quiet atmosphere, Louis’ heartbeat is all the more obvious in his chest. He swallows harshly and tries to relax.

"You alright?" Harry asks, his green eyes brighter in this light, his voice like velvet.

Louis manages to break into a smile. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

A fire crackles faintly in the distance of the room. It’s then, that Louis notices where they are. It looks like a small pub, with wooden everything - walls, floors, ceiling, stools - and there’s about three people in here all up. One behind the bar, two others perched on stools on opposite sides, drinking something like beer in the afternoon.

"I could go one of those, though."

Harry laughs, “Not now, Lou.” He takes a hold of his other hand and pulls him closer towards him. His face goes soft, his mouth makes Louis’ heart triple in speed.

"I know it’s hard," He says softly, placing one of his hands on the side of Louis’ face, as though he were about to kiss him, "and if I could stop it, I would. But I just want you to know that wherever we are, we can escape this bullshit. Just tell me and we’ll hide straight away."

As terrible as it sounds, Louis could melt. He could easily fall into Harry’s arms right now and just melt.

And the truth is, the paparazzi make Louis scared. Or nervous. Or one or both of those things, but he can deal with it.

"It was shit when they mentioned her." Louis says, a weak effort to lighten the mood.

Harry smiles at the ground and shakes his head. “At least now they know.”

Louis looks at him curiously, “At least they know what?”

"That you’re with me, of course."

Harry dips down and brings Louis closer, bringing their lips together. Louis braces his hand on Harry’s waist as he kisses him back, standing up a little bit on his tip-toes so he can get a better angle.

"Harry! Harry! Are you and Paris getting back together anytime soon?"

Louis breaks away and Harry instantly looks at him with apologetic eyes.

"I still don’t think they’re convinced." Louis says, a slight smile in his tone.

Harry grabs his hand, “Me neither.”

He places his hand on the wooden door knob and opens the door without warning. A flood of questions accompanied by a flurry of flashes are set off at the sight of the two of them.

They walk passed without hesitation, ignoring it all with grace and optimism.

It’s not until they reach the middle of an empty road when Harry stops, turns to Louis, and presses a kiss so deep to Louis’ lips that it makes his back curve backwards onto Harry’s sturdy hand.

Gasps of the reporters are heard and the amount of flashes per second are doubled, making sure they get every aspect of this kiss on camera.

Harry opens Louis’ mouth, moving with it with enough power to make Louis’ eyes roll backwards as he fills with surprise and all types of wonderment. He feels Harry smile against his lips and Louis does the same, even daring to place his hand on Harry’s butt and squeeze it.

Then Harry’s bringing both of them up so they’re standing straight and they break apart. He kisses Louis once more on the lips, then takes his hand again and they continue to walk off.

Louis’ stomach is overwhelmed with butterflies and he’s grinning so hard that he’s afraid his face might fall off.

"Yeah," Louis says, calling from across the road to the cluster of shocked paparazzi, "put _that_ in your paper!"

Harry lets out a laugh beside him, and suddenly it’s the brightest thing he’s seen all day.

-*-

They reach a silent park near Louis’ house. It’s similar to the one Harry goes to back home, similar to the one where he found Louis that one time. The memory fills Harry’s veins with something that feels like excitement. It’s the feeling, maybe, the feeling that he remembers he had at that exact moment.

They sit at one of the park benches near the small pond that is over-filled with last night’s rain. Purple tulips blossom on either side, their petals growing bigger than the majority of creatures in the water.

"You know, Haz," Louis says, almost with apprehensiveness, his eyes not making contact, "if this _does_ affect your career in any way—"

"It won’t."

"But if it does," Louis disputes, his voice now filling with seriousness, "you can always lie about us."

Harry shakes his head immediately. His eyebrows pull together at even the thought of lying - he hated it when he had to do it with _Paris_. There’s no way he’d pretend that Louis, the only spark in his life, had no great connection to him.

"No way, Lou. ‘M not lying."

"I know you’re, like, the biggest hopeless romantic ever and I _know_ how you always put others before yourself but," Louis pauses for a second. Harry watches as his chest rises and falls. "I’d hate to think that your reputation was destroyed ‘cause of me, you know?"

Harry drops Louis’ hand so he can rub both of his own down his face as he groans.

He wants to explain to Louis that he simply does not give a fuck. He hates this whole “reputation” thing. Hates it all.

He wants to explain to Louis that he desperately just wants to be known for the music he puts out. Not his relationships or his personal life.

He wants to just grab Louis by the face and tell him that he’s not hiding anymore - that the first time was tortuous enough.

But it’s like the words are stuck. Like his sentences are jumbled and the amount he has to say all folds into one and he can’t articulate them the way that he wants.

So he just sits there, groaning.

"I take that as a… no, then?"

Harry brings his hands together and looks at Louis, who’s got his eyebrows raised and a sceptical look covering his entire face.

"Of course it’s a no." Harry replies. It’s not the answer he initially wanted to give, but Louis only sighs and shrugs, like a ‘suit yourself’ kind of way.

"Besides," Harry continues, his mouth stretching into a lopsided grin whilst his arm wraps around Louis’ shoulders, "this _is_ great publicity, isn’t it?"

Louis smiles and it’s like his eyes are fighting the urge to roll, and instead he falls into Harry’s chest comfortably. “There is such a thing called wrong publicity, you know—”

"Shh," Harry says, his finger pressing delicately against Louis’ lips. "No negative thoughts."

Louis slaps his finger away. He’s about to say something, and Harry would usually let him, if his mouth wasn’t looking more inviting than usual.

He dips his head and Harry kisses him before Louis can become aware. He’s shocked at first but quickly relaxes, his hand coming up to fist Harry’s hair.

Louis lets out a small, high-pitched moan into Harry’s mouth, and it seems to shock him because he stills after it, completely unaware of the shiver it sends down Harry’s spine.

He tugs at Louis’ shirt, warm hands searching for warmer skin, and his fingers brush against the waistline, making Louis’ grip on Harry’s hair tighten.

"Sit on my lap," Harry says, his travelling hands moving over Louis’ thighs.

"Sit on your lap?" He questions, pulling back a bit, "We’re in public, though."

Harry remembers the last time they were in public. The memory of Louis sucking him off in the bathroom at an award’s ceremony makes his blood rush south. That was the best blow job he’s ever received.

"Hasn’t stopped you before."

Louis’ eyes square on him, eyebrows frowning. “That was a once off.”

Harry laughs, “Okay, sure.” He pats his lap, “But I think you should still sit here.”

Louis’ eyes fall onto Harry’s lap, then he quirks an eyebrow like he’s thought of something and returns his gaze back to Harry. “You do know that I could quite easily get you hard and then leave you untouched for as long as I wanted, don’t you?”

Harry swallows. “Please do.”

This time, Louis doesn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. He makes a defeated noise - something like a sigh - and shakes his head.

"You’re impossible, you know that?"

Harry’s about to pout, ask why that’s such a bad thing, until he sees Louis standing up and then Harry grins.

Louis braces his hands on either side of Harry’s head against the bench. Harry holds Louis’ hips with his hands; his eyes transfixed with how great his body looks already, undoubtedly biting his lip. Then Louis props one knee up at a time, each leg on either side of Harry’s waist, then sits down.

The sudden pressure of it makes that same shiver pass through him again. It’s not cold, like the ones you get in winter, but it’s one that makes your whole body tingle from your stomach to the tips of your toes, and Harry wants to feel it over and over again.

They lock eyes and Harry smiles, “Yay.” He says, like he’s achieved something unimaginable.

"You are, without a doubt, the weirdest weirdo I have _ever_ met." Louis tells him, his hands linked together behind Harry’s neck, his eyes following the curves of Harry’s lips.

"Then you’ve obviously never met yourself." Harry says cheekily, earning a small gasp from Louis.

He expects Louis to keep it going, to have a conversation full of banter until someone eventually gives up and throws in a compliment instead. But he’s suddenly kissing him and Harry’s absolutely fine with that.

Then, “Harry?”

"Mm?"

"Your thigh’s vibrating."

Harry frowns slightly, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He holds Louis’ face with his hands and kisses him again. “So?”

"So, answer it."

He hops off of Harry and the aching coldness on his lap from the absence of Louis almost makes him want to cry.

"Better be quick," Harry mumbles to himself, pulling out the phone from his front pocket.

He glances at the phone.

He glances at Louis.

"It’s your dad."

Louis’ Adam’s apple rises and falls as he swallows deeply.

"Should I—?"

Louis nods once, sharp and accurate, and Harry’s pressing answer before he’s even aware he’s doing it.

" _Harry_?"

The voice is low - calm. Harry was prepared for yelling, something like a string of curse words all rolled into one. But he only addresses Harry like a question, like he’s _afraid_.

"Put it on speaker phone." Louis says quietly. His face is expressionless. His eyes are locked on the phone but it seems like they’ve lost focus somehow.

Harry presses the button and Mr Tomlinson’s voice is accentuated to fill both their ears.

" _Harry_? _You there, mate_?"

"I’m here." Harry says, his tone stern when he didn’t mean it to be. Mr Tomlinson has always had this sort of complexity and variations to him - in a way that sort of reflects Louis a little bit - how he’s so spontaneous and filled with surprises. But Harry never expected Mr Tomlinson to act like _this_.

" _Listen, I - I’ve been needing to apologise to you, Harry_." Mr Tomlinson sounds sincere. He sounds like he’s regretful, like he’s been contemplating his mistakes for a long while now.

Harry feels the confusion on his face but he’s unable to hide it. He looks at Louis but Louis hasn’t changed.

" _I’ve had some time alone to think about it_." He continues. Harry takes Louis’ hand softly. " _and I have to apologise for my actions. I’m quite aware of how much of a prude I was to you and your relationship with my son. I should’ve taken it with a grain of salt, and I shouldn’t have deprived you from whom or what makes you happy, and I’m sorry_."

He pauses and the air around them stills. The sound of a small creature jumping into the pond can be heard and it’s the loudest thing they can hear. Harry knows he should say something - anything - but his vocal chords are stuck again, how they were with Louis.

" _I know I won’t be easy to forgive but I’m telling you this truthfully_ ," Mr Tomlinson takes in a breath, like what he’s about to say is hard for him. " _I want you to know that I give you and Louis my blessing_."

Harry’s chest starts to feel warm. His hand is being squeezed by Louis’ and when Harry looks at him his eyes are bright.

"Thank you, Mr Tomlinson." Harry says finally.

Then almost immediately after, Louis says, “Thanks, dad.”

Another pause. Then, “ _Louis_?”

Harry hands the phone to Louis and he receives a look that’s a mix between grateful and disbelief.

He watches as Louis takes the phone and holds it to his ear, walking off slowly with his head up and his smile bright.

-*-

"I still can’t believe he apologised." Louis says, collapsing onto his bed, limbs falling anywhere they please. "Can you believe it, Harry?"

"Not at all, Lou." Harry replies, falling down next to him.

Louis knows he’s probably done Harry’s ears to death, not shutting up for the entire car ride about a fifteen minute conversation with his father. But it’s true; Louis couldn’t believe it at all. He’d never heard the genuine words ‘I’m sorry’ come out of his father’s mouth before - well, sober, at least - and he’d never, _ever_ pick his father to be one that accepted one of Louis’ relationships, _especially_ one with Harry.

"It’s remarkable, isn’t it?" Louis continues, "Can’t wait to tell mum."

His eyes flicker around the room, lastly landing on one of his old calendars from 2010, pinned up on one of the walls across from his bed.

He gets up from where he was sitting as he gets an idea and Harry sits up from the sudden movement.

"What’re you doing?" Harry asks him, almost afraid that Louis was to leave the room.

"Gonna mark this important day as the day my dad apologised." Louis grins. He flips over the pages from June until it reaches October. David Beckham stares back at him, shirtless and styled with a soccer ball tucked underneath his arm.

He hears Harry snort humorously behind him. “Typical.”

Louis lets that one slide and picks up a nearby pen. “What is the date, anyway?”

"Uhh," Harry pulls out his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. Louis watches as Harry’s face suddenly drops - he blinks and his mouth seals shut - like he’s just found out something he wished he didn’t. "It’s the eleventh."

Louis discards the calendar and the pen immediately and crawls into bed beside him. Harry still stares at his phone, eyes unable to tear away.

Louis brushes Harry’s hair back with his fingers and takes the phone delicately out from Harry’s loose grip and places it beside him. He tilts up his chin so Harry’s forced to lock eyes with him.

"Want to tell me what’s wrong?"

The usual green of his eyes have faded into something much less specific. It’s like the sadness has overwhelmed him remarkably and it’s drained the vibrancy of his colour, disguising it with a sort of grey that darkens his whole face. Louis wants to kiss him until he’s normal again.

Harry swallows harshly. “It’s mum’s birthday tomorrow.”

Louis drops his eyes. “Ah,” He says gently.

The rain outside falls like clusters from the sky. There’s not a flow within it, just raindrops falling and hitting the roof at unpredictable times.

Louis takes Harry’s hand, not knowing what else to say.

 


	14. Chapter 14

The graveyard looks exactly the same as Harry remembers from last year. The bushes have grown out a bit and the steel gate that barricades the place has started to rust but his mother’s tombstone is placed nearest the middle of the yard, right where he left it.

Last time he was here it was for her birthday again. A whole year. A year ago, Harry would never have imagined what his life would be like at this exact moment.

Last time he was here it was raining and the weather was so cold that hardly anyone showed up. Now, as the sun shines and as the clock reads twelve in the afternoon, hardly anyone has shown up. Harry doesn’t know whether to feel something or to feel nothing at all.

"You okay?" Louis asks beside him, finding his hand and squeezing it.

They haven’t entered yet. Harry’s father’s still in the car. This always happens, he’s so much more reluctant to visit than Harry is and Harry’s never quite understood why.

"Yeah, I’m okay." Harry replies, nodding once as if to confirm for himself.

He hears the car door close behind him and watches as his father exits, his chest rising and falling prominently as he breathes deeply. When he meets up with Harry he slaps him on the shoulder like a form of encouragement.

"You good, dad?"

His father nods but his eyes don’t connect with Harry’s. He gestures towards the graveyard, “Shall we?”

The gate creaks loudly when they open it. Harry’s stomach gets the same sort of flutters he does every time he visits. He remembers the very first time he came by himself. It was the day after the funeral when everyone was still mourning and feeling sorry for Harry and his family. He remembers being annoyed at the people who promised them that they’d be there always - even though he didn’t see them before or after that day at all.

He remembers being only sixteen and entering this graveyard by himself, kneeling by the side of where his mother lays and placing his first flower down. He didn’t leave until it was night-time and his father had to call the police to search for him.

"Looks like other people have wished her a happy birthday today." His father says.

Harry refrains on telling him that it’s not necessarily still her birthday if she’s dead. He tries to prevent the negativity but somehow the darkness of this environment seems to consume his thoughts and it’s like a paradox - something he can’t prevent.

So he squeezes Louis’ hand in hopes of stealing some positivity with it.

There are bouquets of flowers placed around the tombstone.

 _Anne Styles._  
A loving mother and wife and a beautiful presence in everyone’s life.  
1963 - 2011.

He swallows back the emotion he can feel brewing in the midst of his core, as though one moment of release will make him fall undone.

"Hi, mum." Harry manages to say. He feels his throat tighten a little and his chest feels numb with either pain or anguish or both. "Happy birthday."

His father smiles softly. Louis’ hand rubs Harry’s back in circles gently.

He looks down at the grey stone and a tear that escapes rolls down his cheek. He tries to sniff it up, tries to look at the sky so it can all return back to its rightful place instead of on his cheeks. But then, of course, as he looks back down and notices the big flower he gave her last year wilting next to a new set of roses - his bottom lip starts to quiver and Harry knows there’s no hope in stopping it now.

"Is it okay if…?” Harry’s voice comes out in palpitations but Louis and his father still look at him like he’s making sense, "if I could have a moment alone? Please."

"Of course, Haz. We’ll just be over here."

Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s shoulder and rubs his back two or three times before joining Harry’s father.

Harry takes in a deep breath. He lets it out and it’s shaky but at least he can breathe.

He kneels down beside the stone, traces the graving on it once with his finger, rearranges the flowers into a perfect line, and then eventually swallows through the tightness of his throat and prepares to speak.

"Wish you were here. You’d be so proud of me, mum." His voice is a whisper. He looks up to the sky and it’s all so bright like nothing he’s ever seen before. This time of year at this sort of place, brightness is the last thing that belongs in the sky.

"Happy birthday." He says again, and hugs the cold stone, imagining that for just a second, it was her.

-*-

They go back to Harry’s house. The ride there was long - Harry silent beside Louis, Louis unable to lighten the mood - and there was nothing that could be said or done to cheer him up.

As Harry had knelt down beside her grave back at the graveyard, Louis and Harry’s father watched on. He could see how strong Mr. Styles had to be for the both of them and Louis admired him for it.

"I know you and your dad don’t get along much, Louis, but," He had said, taking Louis by surprise, "I have to thank him for what he’s been able to give Harry. Career-wise, that is."

And it was selfish to think of himself at that stage but as the wind picked up and as his forced smile played on his face, the reoccurring scenario started again like a movie in his mind. The flashes, the greyness in his eyes, the smile on his father’s face. It was like a vivid nightmare - a daydream but a nightmare - and it threw him out of the state of tranquillity he was once in.

"I’m sure he knows how thankful Harry is." Louis told him.

Mr. Styles tried to stifle a laugh, almost, and it made Louis wonder.

"Or maybe… He doesn’t?"

"He probably does. But I doubt it, I really do." Mr. Styles had said, looking almost sympathetic towards Louis’ father. "But I think his gratitude has disappeared and has been replaced with resentment. He thinks very highly of you, Louis, and those that don’t accept you two - well, they don’t go down too well with Harry."

"Oh." Louis said, rising his eyebrows as he did so. He rocked back and forth on his feet, then said, "He’s apologised for that, you know. Apologised yesterday, actually."

Mr. Styles’ eyes widened in disbelief. “ _Really_?” Louis nodded. “Wow, never would’ve thought that after seeing him the day before Harry left to go to yours. Mr. Tomlinson was actually _furious_.”

Louis swallowed. He’s known that from his father all too well, seen the crinkled forehead and the threatening eyes that were only expressed through anger. He had looked over to Harry then, folded over himself with his body shaking.

It was hard to see him like that. Hard to see him so distraught and vanquished with grief. Seeing him cry made Louis feel a kick of guilt, wondering whether he’s ever made him feel like that before.

"Should we…?" Louis suggested heavily, hesitation waving in the air.

He looked at Mr. Styles and tried not to notice how his eyes seemed watery as they watched his son.

He nodded once, sniffed back the emotion and said, “Yeah, let’s get him up.”

Now, as they turn into Louis’ street, he wants nothing more than to cheer up his boyfriend and to bring that spark back into his eyes.

He doesn’t even notice the nerves, the anticipation, the anxiety all rumbling throughout him as they walk up towards his father’s house. All he notices is how slack Harry’s hand is when Louis takes it and how unfulfilling Harry’s smile is when Louis playfully bumps into him.

Though, the nerves and anticipation and anxiety all kick in at once as soon as the door opens and his father’s standing there, smiling.

"Good evening, boys." He says, kindly.

He doesn’t open his arms dramatically, doesn’t raise his voice as though he were introducing the next act on stage - instead, he speaks to them like actual human beings, not people he were trying to impress.

"I’m glad you came, I truly am." He says, locking eyes with the both of them one at a time. He turns to Mr. Styles and says, "I’ll meet you in the pool room, if you want? Gotta have a chat to these lads, first."

"Sure." Mr. Styles says. He turns to Harry and whispers something quick into his ear, pats him on the back once, and then goes to walk out of the room.

It’s silent for a small while, and Louis doesn’t miss the quick glance his father takes down at their hands. Louis’ first instinct is to let go immediately. Instead, he holds on tighter.

"Here, please, take a seat." Louis’ father insists, gesturing over to the couches, the ones that he had interviewed Harry on all those months ago.

They sit down, Louis and Harry on one couch while his father sits on the chair opposite. He doesn’t know why he’s chosen to do it like this, so obvious like this is a big deal, he can feel Harry tense up beside him and he rubs his thumb in circles over his hand in an attempt to soothe him.

"Did you want tea, coffee, food, are you hungry? Thirsty? I can order you whatever you want, you know. Hey, Maria?" He calls, his arm raised as he clicks his fingers. Louis looks at him sceptically.

"Dad… What’re you doing?"

He looks at the two of them and it hits Louis. He’s _nervous_.

"Look, I," He sighs and readjusts the watch on his left wrist, "I wanted to make a formal apology face to face. The more I think about it the more I want to say sorry and I’d like to make it known that—"

"Dad, we," Louis interrupts. He looks at Harry and he knows he’s feeling the same way, "we already know how you feel. You don’t have to scream it from the rooftops, it’s cool."

He flashes him a smile and he can see how his father exhales in relief. Louis just hopes this is genuine.

Then his father nods, stands, and holds out his hand to Louis. He looks him in the eye with absolute seriousness and Louis feels those three feelings return.

But then, like a shine of light through a tunnel that’s been dark since the beginning of Louis’ life, his father says, “You’re allowed to love whoever you want. I’m happy for you.”

♫

They decide to stay at Louis’ - partly since they both know Harry’s small, narrow bed doesn’t accustom to the broader, much more comfortable bed that’s here; and partly because Harry’s father’s far too drunk to be heading home, anyway.

"Does he always… when it’s—?"

"Yeah," Harry nods, already knowing what Louis’ asking, "He says it’s like a quick dose of medicine, the only thing strong enough to put him asleep."

They’re tucked away in bed - Harry sitting up slightly with the pillows supporting his back, Louis lying on his chest as he plays with the hem of Harry’s shirt.

"Do you?" Louis asks, almost hesitantly as though he were afraid of the answer somehow.

"Nah, don’t like to waste the day." Harry tells him. "Sort of feels like an insult to her… or something." Louis feels Harry shrug beneath him. "Always tell myself it’s better up there for her, since she’s not in pain or anything."

Louis looks down. His right eye closes and his eyelashes brush against the soft fabric of Harry’s t-shirt. His left leg is slotted between Harry’s and he adjusts his position so he can look at him, make sure that he’s not crying.

He gives him a kiss, “I’m sure she’s more proud of you than you could ever imagine.”

Harry looks at him for a little while, and then presses a kiss to his lips. When he pulls back, there’s a different expression casting on his face. It’s like a realisation, almost. His eyebrows are pulled together slightly and he’s looking at Louis like he’s just discovered something. Then, like a coin dropping in complete silence, he says:

"I love you."

 


	15. Chapter 15

"I may as well just bloody say it, shouldn’t I? No point in keeping it in, I love you, Lou."

He searches Louis’ eyes and swallows deeply. Nerves are swimming through his veins and his entire being is swelling with the thought that he’s scared him off.

Louis’ never been one for love, he knows. He’s always been a date-and-ditch type of guy, really. But Harry’s certain he loves him - loves him with every fibre of his being.

And even though Louis is speechless and looking at Harry like he just killed a man, Harry knows he’ll continue to love him even if he doesn’t return the favour.

But the truth is, he’s been brought up with some sort of regret that he never said those three words to his mother often enough. He’d hate to lose Louis - hate to lose him without him knowing that he’s loved.

"I’ll wait." Harry says, trying to break the tension that’s so easily built up in the room. "It’s okay, really, I wasn’t searching for a confession back, you know. Just needed to get it off my chest, it’s been bugging me for _days_ now, I think. Maybe even longer, actually, maybe I started loving you when we spoke, I’m not really sure—"

He’s cut off by a set of lips and he lets out a surprised sound. Louis’ hands come up to Harry’s face and he lifts his body up from his lying down position. Then Harry feels Louis sitting down over his hips and suddenly he doesn’t feel so nervous.

"God," Louis says, keeping their foreheads pressed together, "I love you, Harry."

♫

Weeks fly and suddenly it’s November and Harry’s due at yet another award show with an album that’s gone platinum. Apparently his fans agree that his songs are _so_ obviously about Louis and quite frankly have all disagreed with the Paris set-up - which is, mainly, what sent the profits soaring. Because of him and Louis.

Harry will never forget the morning when he read the reviews and saw the comment about how much happier Harry evidently seemed with Louis - he’ll never forget because the fairy-light fluffiness that filled his entire being didn’t leave him that whole week. There’s something about the point of view of a fan that gets to him.

"So," Harry says to Louis, shrugging on his jacket, "are you gonna make me suck you off then leave me with blue balls again?"

Louis gives him a look, “I didn’t _make_ you,” he says, then walks over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist, underneath his coat, “and, I mean, if I _was_ to do that, you’d be singing on stage with a boner.”

Harry barks out a laugh, “You’d love to do that, wouldn’t you?”

He looks at Louis as he starts to think. He tilts his head to the side and folds his bottom lip. _God_ Harry thinks, _look at you_.

"I wouldn’t, actually." Louis says, his lips slightly quirking up into a smile, "Wouldn’t want everyone in that audience sneaking a glance, to be honest."

"Wouldn’t matter," Harry tells him, his hands on Louis’ hips, bringing him closer, "I’ve only got eyes for you, remember?"

Louis rolls his eyes but the smile that follows is more genuine, “And so you should.”

Harry notices the way Louis has to lift up to his toes to centre his lips onto his own. Harry makes it easier and bends down instead, spanning his hand over Louis’ lower back.

He feels Louis’ fingertips scratch on Harry’s t-shirt, like he's trying to hold on. Then he takes Harry’s bottom lip into his teeth and bites it. He draws far enough so Harry can watch as Louis looks at him beneath his eyelashes.

"Alright, that’s it," Harry says, lifting Louis up from his ass in one swift motion, Louis’ legs wrap around Harry’s waist more instinctively than anything, "fifteen minutes then we’ll go."

"Harry," Louis manages to say through giggles, his eyes still surprised yet impressed by Harry’s spontaneous movement, "we can’t, love. You’re the first performance of the night, remember?"

"So what?" Harry shrugs with a grin, "They can wait."

"You are," Louis says, then pauses as Harry places him on the bed, "ridiculous."

He brings Harry closer by pulling him, hand grabbing onto his t-shirt as Harry shrugs off his coat. Louis’ hands travel downwards towards Harry’s jeans and Harry leans in to kiss him.

He starts unbuckling Louis, and they end up pulling their own jeans and boxers down, leaving them around their ankles. Harry lands between Louis’ thighs, their half-hard cocks rubbing off against each other, Louis letting out breathless gasps into Harry’s mouth.

His hips rut up against Harry’s as Harry grinds down onto him, the feeling of it making his whole body feel alive.

"You’re gonna look - so great - up there." Louis says in between breaths, his hand clutching onto the back of Harry’s head, his fingernails scratching his scalp.

Harry moves his hips down again, and it’s enough to move Louis so his back is arching against the mattress. Harry leans down into his ear, “I’ll be looking at you – the whole time,”

“Fucking better be,” Louis warns, moving his hands down to Harry’s ass, forcing his hips down so they grind together.

“ _God_.”

Harry doesn’t waste any time. He sits up onto Louis’ thighs, earning a whine of protest from Louis. But then Harry’s sucking on two of his fingers and Louis seems happy with that. Harry moves to sit in between Louis’ legs as they spread for him. He controls himself, not touching his cock.

With one hand braced on Louis’ hip, he places one finger inside Louis, earning a broken groan in response. He watches as he swallows harshly, and then starts to insert another finger, Louis’ head falls back onto the stack of pillows, his eyes closed with fingers digging into the mattress.

Harry curves both his fingers and twists until he reaches _that_ spot. Louis lets out a noise as his eyes squeeze shut and his hips jolt upwards.

“Harry, get on with it, love.” He pants.

“Right, y-yeah.”

Harry, fully hard and leaking, takes out his fingers and hears Louis let out a soft sigh. Then Harry’s leaning over the edge of the bed, searching with his hand under it until he finds a familiar tube.

He returns back to Louis as Louis watches on, chest rising and falling as desperate puffs of air escape his mouth, and he spots Harry slicking the lube over his cock, and then gasps in a breath as he smothers it lightly onto his hole.

" _Harry_ ," Louis breathes, already looking like an absolute mess right before him. His legs are spread, his thighs strong and his stomach clenching. The line of his neck looks so wonderful; Harry makes a note to create marks on his skin.

"Yeah, babe?" Harry asks, but gets no response. Instead, as Harry presses the tip of himself inside, Louis’ back arches as he flops his arm over his forehead.

Harry eases himself in, his hands bracing on both of Louis’ knees. He could never get enough of how Louis looks at this moment, his body moving the bed each time Harry thrusts in and out of him. He’s biting his lip, trying not to make any sounds – which is probably for the best, since Harry knows how loud he can get.

His cock lays flat on his stomach, leaking and _ready_ , and Louis brings his hand up to touch himself.

Harry knocks his hand away, “Not yet.”

Louis moves his arm away from where it was resting from his eyes and looks directly at Harry. “We’re – supposed – to be leaving – in - _oh_ … In fifteen minutes. I’m _allowed_.”

And with that, he wraps a hand around himself. He jerks slowly, in time with Harry, but with the sight in front of him he doesn’t think he can last as long as he thought.

Harry groans, deep and long, a strong contrast compared to Louis’ short spurts of “ _ah_ “.

He brings his lips down to Louis’ jaw, kisses right underneath it. He can hear his breath and his short little moans directly in his ear and he could hear that sound again and again and again.

He can feel Louis’ cock against his stomach and Harry trails his hand down, his hips moving back and forth in a steady rhythm. He bites down on Louis’ sensitive neck the same time he wraps his hand around Louis’ throbbing cock.

The moan that follows is almost enough to send Harry over the edge.

"Wait," Louis whispers into his ear after a few seconds, "don’t - wanna do it - this way."

Harry stops altogether and looks down at Louis, frowning slightly. Louis makes a twirling gesture with his finger, suggesting that they swap positions.

"But that means I’ll have to—"

"Yeah," Louis says, nodding once.

Harry quickly learns that Louis’ demanding during sex. And the way the order makes his dick twitch inside Louis makes Louis quirk an eyebrow, as though he were making a mental note for later.

Of course, he obliges and takes himself out and flips onto his back quicker than he’s ever been in his life. His dick throbs, aching to be back inside Louis again as fast as possible.

Louis places his knees on either side of Harry, his hands balancing himself on Harry’s middle. He aligns himself with the help of Harry’s hold on his hips, and then sinks down, the feeling like ecstasy for both of them.

"God, _Lou_ ,"

"Harry,"

His pace speeds up, bouncing up and down on his dick, his own pressed against his belly, his forehead starting to sweat.

Just looking at him, _feeling_ him, is better than anything Harry’s ever experienced. His eyes flutter shut but he refuses to miss this.

"Harry, Hazza - babe," Louis breathes out, his body moving up and down faster and faster, "I’m gonna — I feel it—"

"Me too," Harry realises, preparing to lift Louis off.

Louis comes as he falls onto the space beside Harry, a beautiful moan escaping his lips, his face flushed with his lips plump and pink and absolutely kissable.

Harry wraps a hand around himself and pulls two or three times before he’s coming, a low groan sounds from the back of his throat.

Louis cuddles up beside Harry, chest heaving slightly. He presses a sweet kiss to Harry’s jawline, and then tucks his head into the crook of Harry’s neck.

Harry smiles, “Thought you wanted to leave now?”

"Mm," Louis hums, "few more minutes."

It’s quiet, then.

They hear the mumbles of the crew downstairs, and the way they’re both trying to level out their breathing. Harry could stay here, screw the performance, screw the ceremony. This is all the rewards he’ll ever need.

“Now we’ve gotta make ourselves look proper again.” Louis says through a smile, his fingers roaming over Harry’s chest.

Harry’s thumb brushes over Louis’ shoulder, “Or, y’know, you could come looking like that. Would be absolutely fine if you ask me.”

“Oh, yes,” Louis replies, “arrive to a fancy event looking like I’ve just been fucked. Lovely.”

Harry grins, “Works for me.”

-*-

Harry performs and he nails it. Louis, his father and Mr Styles are all seated in the front row. Liam and Niall are sitting behind Louis. He sings his number one single, his eyes locking with Louis’ as he sings, the words sung with so much emotion than when Louis first heard it in the recording booth, and when he first heard it on the radio.

Except this time, Louis doesn’t feel anything else but proud.

"You know, the first time I heard that song, I couldn’t handle it." Louis admits as the awards take a break after Harry’s performance. He’s sitting beside Louis, with their hands holding and with their bodies facing each other.

"I know," Harry says, "it made me self-conscious, seeing you leave. Thought you hated it."

Louis looks to their hands and smiles softly. He shakes his head, “No, it was more like I loved it so much and didn’t want to admit it.”

He looks up to meet Harry’s confused eyes. They look into Louis’ intensely, searching for answers.

"Why?"

Louis shrugs, “When you relate to something, I guess it takes you by surprise and hits you like nothing you’ve heard before.”

"Well, it’s a sad song, I’ve got to admit—"

"Yeah."

"But now I think it means something more. Like, when I sing it, I mean every word."

Louis has to swallow the emotion suddenly building. He knows the song was originally written for Zayn and how he left Harry - but now, as Harry squeezes his hand and looks at Louis with this sort of _twinkle_ in his eye, he has an inkling that it’s now meant solely for him.

Louis smiles, “I love you.”

The announcer’s voice echoes through the room as Harry quickly kisses Louis.

"If everyone could get back into their seats now that would be great, the show’s about to return." The announcer says.

"An hour left of this fuckery. Great." Louis’ father mumbles to Louis. Louis laughs into his hand and slaps his father’s arm. He tries not to agree out loud.

♫

After the ceremony, (and after Louis gives Harry a well-deserved blowjob in one of the toilet cubicles, “this should be a ritual,” Harry had said, his smile reaching ear to ear) they exit to where all the journalists and interviewers are kept. The buzz of it all and the noise hits them straight away as soon as the doors open. There are celebrities everywhere, putting on their best smiles and giving out answers to the prodding media.

Louis grabs Harry’s hand, “C’mon, we’ll race to the car.”

Harry nods in agreement and lets Louis lead him through the crowd, their speed increasing by the second when Louis notices a few interviews catching Harry’s eye.

But then he feels Harry stop and Louis experiences a sort of whiplash when their locked hands prevent him from walking any further. Harry’s frowning slightly, his vision casts over towards Louis’ father, talking without an issue to some reporter that’s lapping up every second of it.

"Harry, what’s wrong?" Louis asks him, tugging at his hand.

"Why is she talking to him?"

Louis blinks, “What—?”

"Ah! There he is!" He hears his father beam, his hand gesturing for the two of them to join him. Louis tries to wave it off with a laugh as the camera spins to them, tries to brush it off and pretend they’ve got better things to do, but Harry’s like an obedient little puppy, and when his boss calls, he obeys.

"Hello, Harry." The reporter greets sweetly. She looks quite professional, dark skin with dark hair in a slicked back ponytail. She nods to Louis, "And Louis."

"Hello," Harry replies with a smile. Louis only nods back.

"Loved your performance! And I bet every teenage girl at home did, too." She says, as though she was completely disregarding the fact that Harry is, in fact, holding hands with a male.

"Thank you." Harry says.

"So, I hear that you and Paris are no longer together anymore, what happened there?" She asks it with such sympathy and sadness, as though she experienced the break-up herself. Louis wants to roll his eyes and drag Harry away, but the camera’s rolling and he’s certain his father has a death-defying grip on Harry’s shoulder.

"Uh, y’know, sometimes things don’t really work out the way you want them to, and I guess we both sort of knew that it wasn’t meant for us." He shrugs, "But, of course, Paris is a great girl."

"Yeah," The reporter says, a fake smile plastered on her face. She flickers her eyes down to Harry and Louis’ hands and meets Harry’s eyes again, "Just not great enough for you."

It’s meant to be a light-hearted joke. She laughs after it and Louis’ father barks out a laugh, too. Harry puts on his best smile. Louis looks at her as though she just murdered someone, then laughed about it.

"Right." She says, concluding. "Congratulations on your success, Harry and Mark, and I look forward to speaking to you two again in the future." She holds out her hand and Harry takes it.

"Thank you. Me too."

After the camera shuts off the reporter doesn’t say a thing to Louis. Just taps her cameraman on the shoulder and pinpoints another victim she’s ready to strike.

Harry looks at Louis apologetically, “Sorry about that.”

Louis runs a hand through his hair, “Guess you have to do what you have to do, right?”

"Yes, exactly right, Louis!" His father says, clapping him on the back. "Harry knows how to avoid questions like that, and as long as you put on a smile and say nothing but good things about others, well, you’ve cracked the code, basically."

"Harry! Harry! Mind if we ask you a few questions?" Another reporter, male, and his camera crew all rush up in front of him. Louis glares at the two of them, hoping that they’d get the picture, but Harry’s all smiles and welcoming eyes so of course they won’t be budging anytime soon.

"Was it Paris that turned you gay, for starters," He laughs, his voice like an over-the-top extrovert, and Louis’ gay radar’s flying through the roof, "I _have_ to ask, Harry, was it?"

He can feel Harry’s awkwardness arising. That question is so confrontational, especially since nobody’s really brought it up until now. And it really _pisses_ Louis off because who cares? Who _fucking_ cares?

So, when Harry coughs into his hand, buying some time before he answers, Louis saves him.

"No, actually. It was me."

His voice drips with sarcasm but the daft reporter doesn’t seem to get that. He looks at Louis with bright eyes, like he didn’t even notice he was there, then once he does it’s like he’s found a new shiny toy to play with.

"Louis! Of course, darling. You two are the cutest couple around, might I add!" He laughs and it sort of sounds too dramatic and kind of creepy. Louis has to do a double take when he sees Harry blushing. "So, Louis. Just between you and me, be honest," He says, then leans in and drops his voice to a whisper, "are you really only with Harry for his money?"

Louis looks at him absurdly. Harry squeezes his hand as a warning. “What—?”

"Or the fame?" He asks, as though what he’s asking isn’t absolutely deranged, "Because, love, this is the _best_ way to do it. Am I right?"

Louis scrunches up his face in disgust. “No, absolutely not. Who would be shallow enough to do that?”

"Well," He says with a grin, "you’d be surprised, love."

Harry acts on it and nods and smiles at the reporter, “Okay, well, it was lovely meeting you. We have to go now, bye!”

He yanks Louis away, and it’s not until Louis’ not looking at that infuriating face when he realises his hand’s been clenched into a fist.

Harry drops his hand from Louis’ and moves it to his lower back, his thumb rubbing it calmly, and Louis senses how desperate Harry is to calm him down.

"Harry Styles!" A voice calls from a distance. Louis wants to scream in frustration.

"Last one, I promise." Harry says into his ear.

"Harry, can I have you for a moment?"

She’s blonde, and that’s all Louis really notices. His mind’s somewhere else and his patience is walking on a thin line, making it hard for him to concentrate.

But Harry still puts on a smile and says, “Of course.”

They greet each other again, this time for the camera. She’s not as irritating as the others, at first, since she’s asking about Harry’s musical influences and how Mr Tomlinson helped him rise to fame. And then, with one question, Louis’ irritation reaches a whole new level.

"So, Harry, what struggles have you faced so far since you’ve come out as being gay?"

And Louis’ so shocked for a second or two before he replies.

Harry tries to answer as quickly as possible, hopes that Louis wasn’t paying attention, “Well, there were no real—”

"Now, hang on a minute," Louis budges in, frowning at the reporter. The camera and the microphone all turn to him. He can feel Harry’s warning eyes burning into the side of his face. But Louis’ blood inside him burns harder. "Harry’s career shouldn’t be based on his sexuality, now, should it? He’s a singer with a number one hit, for God’s sake. That’s a topic you could concentrate more on, don’t you think?"

The last sentence comes out saltier than he intended. But Harry doesn’t seem to be tensing too bad beside him so he thinks he did an okay job of keeping his cool.

The reporter pulls a face as though she’s taking what Louis said into consideration. He knows it’s going to be in the news the next day, probably manipulated so it makes it seem worse than it really was.

"That’s all we need, thank you." She says as the camera turns off. Oh, _of course_ it is.

Harry doesn’t get to finish his good-bye by the time Louis’ yanking him desperately through the crowd. By the time they reach their ride, three new reporters call out Harry’s name. Harry almost stops at one but Louis’ surprising strength pulls him away before Harry can even pause.

The limo hums with silence. The buzz and the noise are blocked out as soon as the doors are shut. When Louis looks at Harry, Harry’s eyes are filled with apologies.

"Harry, babe, it’s not your fault." Louis says, patting his thigh. "It’s the stupid reporters. You did what you had to do."

"Yeah, but," He huffs out a sigh, "I’m sorry they made you get all ruffled up. I didn’t think it’d be that bad."

Louis forces out a light laugh to make Harry feel better, “It’s not like we haven’t experienced bad paparazzi before, love. Just don’t know why they have to be so bloody rude, really.”

Harry nods, “Yeah.”

He leans over onto Louis shoulder, his arms wrapping around his middle. Louis smiles softly and presses a kiss to his forehead. His fingers come up to feed into Harry’s curls.

"You did great today." He tells him.

Harry smiles at the praise and curls his legs up to his chest, burying his head further into Louis’.

"You do great every day."

Louis laughs and shakes his head, the sound blending in with the slight hum of the engine starting.

 


	16. Chapter 16

"Lou,"

His voice is being called but it’s as soft as a whisper. He smiles at it, being the only thing he can hear. It’s said again, “ _Lou_ ,” and the snowing images of cascading light surrounding him slowly drift away.

"Lou, wake up, love."

It’s louder now, yet still a whisper in his ear. His eyes only see darkness now, and he can feel the touch on his skin, his arm being shaken ever-so-slightly.

"Lou," The name is drawn out, as though it were sung. And it’s then, that Louis realises it’s Harry. "Louuuuuis."

Louis opens one eye and spots Harry grinning down at him, shaking him excitedly. Louis returns his smile but frowns a little bit in concern.

"What’re you so happy about?" He asks, voice croaky with sleep.

The bed moves as Harry bounces, “It’s your birthday tomorrow!”

Oh, Christ, is it that time of the year already?

"Come downstairs!" Harry says, the grip on Louis’ arm getting impossibly tighter, "You’ll never guess who’s come down, it looks so weird."

Louis opens his other eye and scans the room, thinking. Then he looks back at Harry and gives him a look, “Mum?”

Harry nods a few times rapidly and bounces on the bed again, “Come on, Lou! I’ve been up for hours and everyone’s waiting!”

Louis blinks. “What’s the time, then?”

Harry bites his lip, “Ten.”

"Oh, for _hours_ , I’m sure." Louis gives him a sceptical once-over and Harry grins back at him. He realises Harry’s already dressed, in a simple tee and jeans with a long necklace hanging down his chest. "Alright, well, hold on. I’ll have a shower and I’ll be down in a tick."

"Okay," Harry says, and bends down to Louis to give him a prolonged kiss. "I’ll tell the family."

He jumps off the bed and exits the room, leaving Louis to roll over in bed and close his eyes again - just for a few more seconds, he tells himself.

♫

It’s a weird sight when he sees the living room from the staircase outside his bedroom. The Christmas tree’s already up - has been since the first of December - and the decorations are mixed between balloons and tinsel, “happy birthday” and “merry Christmas” signs, with presents wrapped in red, green and white and presents wrapped in blue. But that’s not the absurdity of it all - Louis sees that sight _every_ year. What he doesn’t see, though, is his mother and father actually conversing face-to-face.

"Don’t you love it?" Harry asks, suddenly in front of Louis, a big smile stretched onto his face.

Louis looks back over to his parents who haven’t noticed him yet. They seem so into the conversation. His father’s telling his mother a story, something about Harry, no doubt and– oh, she’s laughing.

"So. Odd." Louis whispers, looking at the two of them, bug-eyed.

His mother’s the first to catch his eye. She looks at him gleefully and starts crossing the room immediately, her smile lighting up the whole room.

"Louis, darling!" She greets, wrapping her arms around her son. "How are you, love?"

Louis spent most of November at hers, making sure that he was with her before his birthday, since he knew he’d be staying at his father’s in December - as Harry had a lot of work down here and couldn’t afford to travel back and forth for Louis’ birthday.

"You’re here!" Louis says, hugging her back.

"Took some convincing, of course." Louis’ father says, smiling so his eyes crinkle a little, "But she finally got off her ass to come."

"Oh, shut up," Louis’ mother tells him, releasing from Louis to playfully hit his father across the arm.

Louis looks at their interaction and raises a brow. Harry’s by his side as soon as Louis’ mother and father start talking again. Louis’ hand is taken by Harry’s.

"Seriously, though. This is so weird," Louis whispers to Harry, the two of them watching as Louis’ parents laugh and talk as though they had never split up nineteen years ago.

"They’re acting surprisingly better than I thought they would." Harry tells him. Louis tears his eyes away from his parents to look at him.

"Did you know she was coming down?"

Harry bites his lip nervously and nods a few times, “Yeah. Did you want me to tell you? It was supposed to be a surprise—”

"Wait, you organised it?"

Harry pauses before he nods again. Louis looks at Harry like he was a God and shakes his head in amazement.

"I wanted to have her here for Christmas but she said she’ll be able to come down a day before your birthday—"

Louis turns Harry’s face to kiss him and Harry smiles into it immediately.

"Oh, would you _look_ at them, Mark! How adorable." Louis’ mother coos.

Louis pulls away, embarrassed. He takes Harry’s hand again and walks him into the next room, away from the view of his surprisingly civil parents.

♫

The snow floats down from the sky, little and delicate snowflakes land on the ground around them and on top of their heads and shoulders. It’s not snowing much, only a light layer covering the grass of the park and in amongst the trees. It looks magical, Louis thinks.

Harry laughs beside him, eyes on top of Louis’ head, “You’ve got it all in your hair, now.”

Louis looks up at him and sees his curls entwined with snow, “So have you, you mop.”

Harry frowns cutely and shakes his hair, the snowflakes falling out. He stops and moves the hair that falls on top of his forehead with his hand backwards. Louis doesn’t bother shaking it out; he knows more is going to land on him for as long as they’re outside.

After a moment or two, the both of them walk down a random path and take in the sights of the snow. There’s not much noise, really. It’s like a private and enchanted forest that they’ve spontaneously found themselves in.

They end up choosing a lonesome table bench to sit down at, brushing off the frost and built-up snow firstly. Harry places the basket on top of the table and takes out two thermoses filled with tea. Louis takes one and wraps his gloved hands around it immediately.

Harry takes out another two different shaped thermoses filled with soup and he gets started on it, breaking apart some toast as he goes.

"You know," Louis starts, taking a piece of toast and dunking it into his soup, "We haven’t played that game for a while."

Harry looks at him and tilts his head, “Which one?” Louis’ about to tell him but he catches on, realising the only game that they’ve ever really played together. “Oh! Yeah, we haven’t. We should play it after this.”

Louis nods, taking a bite and finding himself wanting to drink the entire serving of soup at once just by how it warms his mouth.

"You know, I used to play it _all_ the time whenever I came to dad’s," Louis says, "which is weird, innit? ‘Cause back then I used to hate it here. Now look at me, I’m here more than my mum’s!"

Harry smiles lop-sided, “Yeah, ‘cause of me.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but they both know it’s true.

"No, but, did you ever play with your mic on? ‘Cause I’ve only done it once and it’s absolutely terrible when you lose against them ‘cause you can hear their victory." Louis says, going back to the video game, his voice filled with exasperation.

Harry nods, “Yeah, I’ve only done it once. Absolutely thrashed him. He threw a little tantrum, too.” He smiles cockily.

Louis laughs, wondering who would ever throw a _tantrum_ over losing to Harry. Harry probably felt sorry for that other person. Probably didn’t even rub it in their faces.

And then something ticks over in his brain like a timer going off.

"Oh, my God." Louis says, eyes wide. "It was you."

Harry frowns and laughs, unsure, “What?”

"Shit, you used your middle name, too!" Louis points out, shaking his head unbelievably at the realisation.

Then Harry’s mind suddenly clicks and so do his fingers, “No shit! You said your name was William! And I said I was—”

"Edward." Louis says, smile widening, "Like the vampire."

"Holy shit," Harry laughs, "what’re the chances?"

-*-

The morning after and Harry’s up before Louis again, bouncing on the bed in a way to make him wake up. But Louis just lets out a small groan and rolls over muttering words that sound like “fuck off.”

But it’s Louis’ _birthday_ and he should be _excited_.

So, Harry crawls over him and makes a point of pecking kisses all over Louis’ face.

Louis reacts to it by frowning and Harry’s ready to be thrown off. But then Louis puckers his own lips and Harry meets them gladly.

"Happy birthday." Harry tells him, kissing him once more.

Louis hums softly, his eyes still unopened. “Thanks, Haz.” He manages to mutter, voice croaky. “Now, go back to sleep, yeah?”

Harry pouts sadly at him but realises that Louis can’t see, so he lets out a disappointed sigh and whines instead like a classic three year old. He soon after bounces on Louis impatiently after he gets no further response and Louis finally opens his eyes - only to glare at Harry as though he were making scenes up in his head on how to kill him.

"Yay! You’re awake!" Harry says, grinning stupidly. Louis rolls his eyes and shifts himself so Harry flops off him.

"Well, I’ve got no choice _but_ to be awake, don’t I?" Louis points out, pulling himself up so he’s more in a sitting position. "By the way, you _do_ realise that you are, by far, the _worst_ boyfriend to have in the mornings?"

"Not for long," Harry smiles, turning around to collect his present. He hands a small box to him and watches as Louis’ eyes fill with pleasant surprise, "happy birthday!"

Louis opens the small box to find a gold ring encased within it. His eyes widen and he looks back and forth between the ring and Harry, mouth gaped open and speechless.

"Now, before you jump out the window, it’s not an engagement ring." Harry reassures, not wanting to kill Louis on his birthday.

Louis recovers, then fixes a sly smile, “Oh, well that’s a shame.”

He then laughs once he catches Harry’s expression - eyes about to bulge out of his head. He’s known Louis for about ten months now but he’s still not entirely sure when Louis’ actually joking.

" _God_ , Harry." Louis sighs, attention back to the ring. He takes it out of the box and inspects it, then eventually places it on his finger. "How much was it, then?"

Harry scoffs, “Like I’m gonna tell you, Lou.”

Louis folds his bottom lip and Harry rolls his eyes. Before he can settle back on Louis, though, he’s being pounced on and attacked with kisses.

" _Thank you_ , love, it’s so pretty."

Harry places a hand on Louis’ hip, “Sorta like its owner in that way, isn’t it?”

This time, Louis rolls his eyes, “Shut up, you big oaf.”

They kiss for a few minutes until Harry remembers why he came up here in the first place. He pulls back and Louis looks at him sadly, Harry wants to cuddle him up and keep him all day. But, of course, that would be entirely selfish.

"You need to be downstairs," Harry tells him pointedly, "that’s why I came to wake you up, actually."

Louis lets out a small groan, “Why? When I can just stay here with you?”

He leans back down to kiss Harry again, tongue brushing over his own and Harry relaxes into it without thinking. He smiles helplessly and pulls back again, laughing softly.

" _Louis_ , love, your parents are waiting."

Louis huffs out a breath and sits up away from Harry. Then he shrugs, “I guess I could make at least _one_ appearance.”

He gets changed and they finally make their way downstairs. Louis gets showered with presents and Harry loves seeing the way he is with his mother and father, how happy he is that they’re actually in the same room, something he hasn’t witnessed since he’s been alive, and Harry watches on in the least creepiest way, smiling involuntarily whenever he sees Louis laugh.

♫

"Having a good birthday so far?" Harry asks Louis as they’re sitting in the lounge room, Louis’ legs over Harry’s as Harry lies down, eating the cake that Louis’ mother made.

Louis nods with a smile, “Yeah, but I feel so _old_.”

"You’re not old, Lou." Harry tells him reassuringly. He picks up a forkful of cake and puts it in his mouth without failing, making sure his tongue catches all of it.

"Jesus Christ, Harry," Louis looks at him absurdly, inspecting Harry’s odd way of eating, "You’re gonna choke and die if you keep eating like that, honesty."

Harry contemplates sitting up, but that means Louis will have to move and quite frankly he enjoys having the weight and warmth on his legs, plus having Louis fingers travel up and down the insides of his thighs softly. So, Harry just shrugs and continues eating.

"You know, sometimes I forget how old you are, and then you do something stupid like this and it makes sense that you’re only eighteen years old. Seriously, Harold, I’m honestly waiting for you to swallow it down the wrong hole and gasp for help."

"Aw," Harry says, cocking his head to the side with a smile, "how sweet of you to care."

Louis pinches his thigh and Harry yelps.

"Sit up, you mongrel."

"Mm," Harry licks his lips, "I love it when you talk dirty."

Louis snorts out a laugh and Harry sits up anyway, obeying Louis once again. He puts his plate next to Louis’ on the coffee table and scoots closer to him, legs bent and arms reaching out.

Louis rolls his eyes and sighs, “C’mere, then.” He says with a smile, opening his arms and letting Harry fall into them happily.

He lays his head on the arm rest beside Louis and lays his body across Louis’ lap. Louis instantly feeds his fingers through Harry’s hair, massaging his scalp, making him fall asleep.

"Christmas tomorrow." Harry says, voice already slowing down. Louis’ nails feel so good.

"Yeah," Louis says, "our house is gonna be filled."

"Mm," Harry hums in agreement, closing his eyes. It’s not long until he falls asleep.

-*-

The house _is_ filled.

The majority of guests are people that Louis’ never met before yet most of them come up to him and Harry like they’ve known them for years. There’s people all dressed up fancy and others who actually look like family. Though, they must be from his father’s side, of course, because he has no recollection of them whatsoever.

The butlers and waitresses are running around, tidying things up and making sure that all the guests are satisfied. Louis wonders why the hell they’re here for Christmas.

He’s standing in a circle with Harry, Liam and Niall and Harry’s looking at the crowd somewhat uneasily while Liam and Niall aren’t fazed at all.

Louis’ never spent Christmas here before - and he wonders what his mother thinks of it all.

"There’s so many people here." Harry finally says, still looking out over the yard to all the guests populating it.

"Yeah," Niall says, "they all come here ‘cause they’ve got nowhere else to go."

Liam frowns, “Well, that’s not _all_ true.”

"Nah, it is, trust me." Niall confirms. "They’re mostly snobby half-assed celebrities who’d prefer fame and money over family. Sad, really."

Harry shakes his head sympathetically, “God, I hope I don’t turn into one of these people.”

Louis feels his stomach flip uncomfortably at the thought. He squeezes Harry’s hand and Harry looks to him but doesn’t say anything.

"It’s good, though," Harry continues, "seeing this house come alive and seeing everyone be together."

"Is it?" Louis asks, scrunching his nose up a little.

"Yeah, I mean, to be honest I never thought this place would feel homely enough to even celebrate Christmas." Harry admits, and Louis remembers him asking how they could ever have family dinners around a massive dining table like the one they’ve got. "But look at everyone, a bunch of loners that are all together thanks to Mr Tomlinson."

Niall laughs at that and Liam shrugs in agreement.

"Well, when you put it that way." Louis says.

♫

The sky is pitch black; the clouds cover every part of it. If you look long enough, though, the clouds move to reveal the never-ending collection of stars that fill it. Those, along with the bright moon, are the only sense of light around them.

"Are you warm enough?" Harry asks, looking at Louis with concern.

Louis, with his hands wrapped around Harry’s arm and his body pressed up as much as he can to Harry’s side, nods his head. “Yeah.”

They’re standing in the same field of snow, the white, soft ice bundling around the ankles of their boots and snowflakes are just starting to float down again like they were on Louis’ birthday.

Harry pecks Louis’ cheek quickly, “Good,” he says, a quirked smile stretching on his face.

Louis sees the glint in his eye and his first instinct is to move away but Harry’s too fast for once. He bends down and before Louis can run, Harry throws a snowball to his chest.

"You wanna start this, do you?" Louis calls out to him, now a few metres away.

He makes out the huge grin on Harry’s face as he nods.

"Right," Louis says to himself, and bends down to bunch up a ball of snow in his gloves. When he gets back up ready to aim, a ball of snow already crashes into his shoulder. "Hey!"

Louis throws his ammunition and it hits Harry in the ear as he’s making another snowball. Louis gasps and brings a hand up to his mouth, ready to apologise as that shot probably would’ve hurt.

But Harry, not fazed at all, throws his third ball, but misses as Louis jumps out of the way.

"Ha! Gonna have to be quicker than that, long-limbs."

Harry drops his arm to his side and cocks his head to the right; Louis can almost make out his frown from here. “What’s that mean?”

Louis laughs at his confusion and takes the opportunity to throw one again, this time hitting Harry’s balls.

Harry grabs at them and lets out a noise of pain.

"Oh shit!" Louis calls out, "Sorry, love!"

Harry straightens up after a while and fixes his jumper, then makes the motion of cracking his knuckles. “You’ve asked for it now.”

Then Harry starts running. Louis’ eyes widen and he turns around immediately, sprinting away as fast as he can. The cold wind whips his face but he smiles regardless, his heart pounding and his hair escaping his beanie, snow flicking out from underneath his boots from each step.

He feels a sudden ‘thud’ crash into his back, and then he’s pinned to the ground onto a mattress made of snow and with Harry’s weight completely pressed to his back.

Louis lets out a 'humph' in protest and Harry kisses his cheek lightly before throwing a small snowball in the same spot. Louis growls at that as Harry chuckles, and the effort to remove Harry is a lot harder than what had Louis anticipated.

"Get off me, you twat." He groans, now feeling the moisture of the snow seep into his clothes, coldness replacing the one hint of warmth he had.

Harry continues to laugh after falling onto his side, and then eventually collapses onto the snow beside Louis. He wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders, somewhat apologetically, and Louis has to roll his eyes at how precious Harry is.

"Did I hurt you?" Harry asks him softly, voice close to his ear.

He’s close enough to him that Louis can feel the puffs of air that come out of Harry onto the back of his neck. Louis rolls over, his face and everything covered in snow, and cuddles into Harry’s side without a word.

Like this, Louis feels the coldness slowly drift away. From where his chest is pressed against Harry’s, and where their legs are entwined, the heat that radiates the two of them is enough to support each other whilst lying flat in snow.

His mind crosses back to what it must be at the house. It must be such a disparity to what Harry and Louis are like, how it’s so quiet that the only thing that can be heard is their breathing falling in time with each other; the only thing that can be seen is nothing but white, white, white.

The house must be noisier than anything - celebrities trying to talk over each other, music blasting through the speakers to suffice for any awkward conversations, the clattering of the kitchen and bar, the singing of the drunk and the screaming laughs of women - he feels his palms sweat at the thought. Thinks about how his mother’s coping.

"So," Harry says quietly, not wanting to break the silence all that much, "did you want to come on tour with me?"

Louis freezes - but in a shocked sort of way, not a cold sort of way - and he blinks. “What?”

"Yeah, uh, I’m doing a little tour of Europe next year and I want you to—"

Louis leans up over Harry and looks him dead in the eye, “And _why_ in God’s name did I not know about this?”

Harry smiles a little, “I would’ve told you sooner but the confirmation only came today.”

"Holy crap, Harry," Louis says, brightly, "you’re having your own tour."

"Yeah." He says, smile growing. A sense of pride for Harry fills Louis’ stomach and he feels all the more happier once he looks at the glow in Harry’s eyes. "So, you wanna come?"

Louis forgets about the nightmare - forgets about the fame, forgets about the paparazzi, forgets about losing Harry in the limelight and losing the one person he’s ever loved - because he knows that won’t happen. Harry’s right here, with promises that he’ll never let it get to his head. And Louis’ father has cleaned up his act, remarkably so that he’s actually putting Harry’s needs before his own and before the company’s.

So Louis returns Harry’s smile and nods his head, “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE THAT'S READING!!
> 
> thank you for the patience, for the kudos & comments, it all means so so much!!
> 
> this is the ending FOR NOW, as i may or may not be writing a short epilogue in the near future :) thank you again, i love you all xxx
> 
> ♡ [tumblr](http://www.louiswmalik.tumblr.com) ♡


End file.
